Harry Potter and the Irresponsible Shippers
by Hermione W. Cullen
Summary: Back AGAIN! Still the digitally remastered sumptuous edition director's cut. Sick and tired of reading weird pairings in Harry Potter fics? Me too. From Snape/Lily to Voldemort/McGonagall, I make fun of them all!
1. Hermione and Malfoy

_A/N: Yes, I was deleted. Again. Why? I still don't know, but I suspect it has something to do with pettiness—theirs OR mine. Am I going to discuss it? Not at all. Enjoy this re-edited reposting (New chapter coming as soon as all the old ones are up). Anyway, the same goes as last time—I keep the original unless I really hate something or I want to add something._

_By the way, I looked it up, and it turns out I am NOT violating any of the Guidelines or Terms of Service. "MST," defined as "comments inserted in between the flow of a copied story," is an untrue accusation, as this is all original work, and nothing is copied without permission or plagiarized. It does not contain any lists, polls, bloopers, et cetera. It is more than two lines long. I use spellcheck. None of the characters are expressly based on real people. Author's notes are allowed as long as there are also stories. So, basically, I was deleted, twice, because a few people didn't like my story. If that's all it takes, can I delete _Breaking Dawn_ from existence?_

_Well, here's my FULLY LEGAL story…_

**Harry Potter and the Irresponsible Shippers (Sumptuous Edition!)**

Originally titled "The Harry Potter Slasher Fic"

_Intro._

The other Thursday, as I was scrolling through the legions of HP fics that daily clog my computer's internet browser, I was struck with…not a bolt of lighting…not a giant paper clip…but an actual, honest-to-goodness thought! I thought to meself, Ya know, there are some pretty crazy pairings being shipped in some of these…HP seems to be the only fandom in which there's such an abundance of weirdo slashes and nauseating character combinations. And then I thought, what better fandom, then, to make fun of?

In fact, there is no better. I jotted a few ideas down, and this fanfic was born.

I'd seem, since there's been such a big controversy over this fic, I should put a disclaimer here: I want it to be known that I LOVE Harry Potter and its fandom. I love the ships I make fun of, the fanfics I make fun of (both good and bad), and just the general spirit of the HP community. It's my absolute favorite thing. Otherwise, how could I have written this?

Now, let me tell you how this is gonna work. Each chapter I post will make fun of one crazy pairing or pairing category. All of the pairings mentioned will be from real-live insnane fanfiction, from Snape/Lily to Voldemort/McGonagall. I do the nauseating, stomach-cramping research (by reading said real-live fics), and you enjoy the oddly-shaped fruit of my labors.

**Quick-Reference Glossary (for morons who, like me, couldn't figure this stuff out on their own)**

**Ship**: Short for "relationship." A shipper is someone who pushes for a certain romantic outcome in a series. For example, a Malfoy/Hermione shipper would be someone who…wanted Hermione and Malfoy to get together. Of course, that person would also be insnane…

**Slash**: refers to a homosexual pairing, usually male/male. For example, a story where Sirius and Lupin get it on would be a Sirius/Lupin slash. Of course, that would also be either bad fanfiction, or wishful thinking on the part of the insnane author, or both.

**OC**: Other character. Also known as "original character," but that is what I call a phrase of questionable accuracy. The phrase refers to any character made up by a fanfic author. Often shares many traits in common with author and, therefore, is often a Mary Sue. This is just another case of wishful thinking…

**Mary Sue**: an "original" charcter who comes into the previously happy story and captures the attention of a character who already has a canonic relationship. For example, there might be an OC named, say…Anatolia Nakamura, created by Gretchen Wiggerstein of Lamesville, Ohio, who comes in and steals Harry's heart right out of Ginny's hands (figuratively, of course. I mean, I'm PRETTY sure everyone agrees that Harry definitely lives through the series, which would mean Ginny couldn't LITERALLY hold his heart in her hands…). Anyway, that would be a Mary Sue. Read: wishful. thinking.

That's not to say that I don't approve of insnanity or wishful thinking. Just that they're easy to poke fun at.

Aaaaand without further further ado,

**Chapter 1: Hermione + Malfoy**

One day, Hermione Granger is in the library studying when she suddenly notices that the gormless weasel Draco Malfoy is, in fact, a real-live (male) human being. Her eyes drift toward him, then away. Draco's do the same. At first he wonders why the hell the mudblood scum is looking at him. Then he looks at her again, and finally notices that she is a real-live (female) human being.

Nothing happens that day in the library, nor any time again for the next three or four chapters of angsty fanfiction. Finally, out of random, sudden, uncontrolled lust that pops out of the blue, the ferret and the book nerd (who, it must be said, has punched, threatened, and insulted Malfoy on several occasions) are suddenly making out.

Then, of course, Ron walks in. And he's like,

"Oi, Hermione, what the bloody hell are you doing with that fickle pureblood prince? You're supposed to be with me, remember? The hot redheaded one, with whom you've been through thick and thin, up and down, side to side, this way and that way, diagonally and Diagon Alley? Besides, we're not supposed to like him, remember? JKR still controls the story!"

"Not any more," says Hermione, who has suddenly and for no apparent reason become a femme fatale. "Fandom has taken over, and they like it upsetting, unlikely, foolish, and rough!" and with that, Hermione weaves her fingers into Malfoy's stiffly gelled blonde locks (hmm, trying to make up for anything there, Malfoy?) and starts making out with him again.

Apparently Mudblood doesn't taste as bad as it sounds.

Go to hell, Malfoy.

Back in the common room, Ron is crying/raging/storming about, ranting to Harry, who is seated in his favorite squashy armchair.

"I mean, what is he, anyway? A no-good, low-down, arrogant, dirty scumbag! I mean, what the bloody hell does she see in him? Especially when she should—she should be with—" Ron breaks down, flopping into an armchair and crying because he is a poor deprived ginger kid whose efforts to earn the love of his bookworm bestie are now in vain.

"Aw, cheer up mate," says Harry, "I know he's a complete slimeball, but it could have been worse."

"How?"

"I dunno."

"Go to hell, Harry."

"Treacle tart."

_Wow—the original story, almost completely unedited. Here's my original endnote: _And that's just a small sampler. Up next: probably Draco + Harry, that fanfic cult which is a cesspool of insnanity.

_Reviews make me feel happy inside (especially since some censoring catabolite decided to determinedly decompose my delicious story, seriously severing my self-esteem)._


	2. Harry and Malfoy

_Hello there. Yes, I'm speaking to you. Thank you for reading this story. I hope you have a hella good time._

_Well, here's chapter two. Like with chapter one, I've kept the original pretty well intact. So enjoy!_

It is with utter disgust that I now present to you the well-loved classic…Harry + Malfoy

Also called "Drarry."

So, having studiously read every single word of each of the Harry Potter books, _Quidditch Through the Ages, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Tales of Beedle the Bard,_ and in some cases _Harry Potter y la Piedra Filosofal_, we obsessive _Harry Potter_ fans have apparently missed one rather important detail: Harry (who is married to Ginny Weasley—a girl, I might add) is GAY!

So of course he goes for Draco Malfoy. Because that's logical, right? I mean, with all the perfectly intelligent, brave, and OMG SMEXY guys surrounding him, Harry goes for the greasy blonde weasel? Whatever. So anyway, apparently Harry and Draco fall in love. Because apparently Draco is gay too (which, I admit, I can totally see) and also is willing to turn his back on everything he's ever believed in.

So they meet somewhere or something, and usually a lemon happens. But I'm going to leave that out, because this is a (ironically) citrus-free fanfic, sometimes. So then they have to decide whether they're going to keep their relationship secret. They decide they should. For the obvious reason: MALFOY'S A DEATH EATER AND HARRY'S THE BOY WHO LIVED, FOR CHRISSAKE!

But anyway, one day poor Ron (why is he always the one to discover things like this?) walks in on them…making lemonade. And he's like,

"Oi, Harry! What the bloody hell is going on?" And Harry, ever the intelligent and quick-thinking one, goes,

"Erm…uh…how the bloody hell did you find us here? This is the room-of-bloody-requirement!" And Malfoy, in all his infinite weaselly wisdom, goes,

"Wot?" And then Ron goes,

"You prat, this is the Room of Hidden Things! Anybody could get in here! Did you honestly doubt I could? For the love of God, I can imitate frickin' Parseltongue!"

And Harry looks around him. Drat, he thinks, Ron's right. Then, in order to avoid his lover having to answer any of Ron's awkward questions, Draco Confunds Harry.

"Ooh, look, shiny!" says the befuddled Harry, spotting an old—but still shiny—tiara. He trots across the room, grabs it off the bust of the warty old wizard, and puts it on. "I'm a pretty princcess, I'm a pretty—"

But Harry's lovely bass voice is cut off by a high, cold laugh.

"Harry Potter," booms Voldemort's voice from the ancient diadem, "You are mine now!" Then, with a big, unnecessary flash of light, Voldemort possesses Harry. His eyes turn all reddish and snakelike, and he turns and points his wand at Draco.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" Harry sings in his lovely bass voice. Draco doesn't even have time to whisper, "Goodbye, I love you" to Harry before he falls deady-dead-dead on the floor.

Malfoy's dead! Yippee! Can we have a party now?

No, no, I've got to finish the story. So anyway, Harry is just turning his wand toward Ron when Alastor Moody (Yes, he has come back from the dead—no, DON'T QUESTION ME!) bursts into the room. In his Auror-type badassiness, Moody shoots a jet of magically restrained Fiend Fyre at the diadem, which quickly screams, moans, gushes a tar-like bloody substance, shakes about a bit, whistles a few bars of _Cabaret_, and explodes, taking Harry's head along with it.

Now Malfoy has come back from the dead (don't question me! If JKR can do it, so can I!), and he's wailing,

"No! No! Harry, my love! Speak to me!" over Harry's esploded corpse. And Ron's like,

"Nooooo! Not only is my best friend dead, but now we have absolutely no hope for defeating You-Know-Who!"

"Not even a little?" asks Malfoy through his tears.

"None!" wails Ron.

But then Moody points his wand at Harry, and he's like, "_Rennervate_!" and Harry's head un-esplodes and Harry comes back to life.

Then Moody turns Malfoy into a ferret and starts bouncing him against all the cool little nic-nacs in the Room of Hidden Things. Then Moody bounces Malfoy through the Vanishing Cabinet that Malfoy himself repaired. Malfoy ends up in Borgin and Bourke's, where he is stuck in ferret form.

Harry doesn't care, though, because this dying-and-coming-back-to-life-unexpectedly experience has taught him to stick with his own kind.

"Ron," Harry says, "I love you."

"Aaaaah!" says Ron, running away, "I never wanted any of this! I'm just a poor deprived ginger kid!!!!!"

Harry runs after Ron.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" yells Moody after them.

There. That's my version.

Now go review like nobody's business.

Or report me, if you choose. I won't be bitter.

A/N: I have no problem with boy/boy or girl/girl shipping…it's more an issue with UNLIKELY relationships. Anyone could concede that Harry would never—in a MILLION BAZILLION YEARS—date Malfoy. Or make lemonade with him. And for the record, if anything in these is taken from real fanfics, it's strictly ideas-only. I never directly copy a thing from anyone else's work. Because that would be illegal and wrong and slightly mean. Wow, look at me, on the defensive. It's almost like I'm a casualty of angry deletion or something.


	3. Harry and Luna

_(3) I thank you all for your kind reviews. Though they are ever so slightly fewer than they were the first time around, I must allow for my being deleted (twice) by some manky little muskrat. Any-who, I particularly appreciate all the old readers who stuck with me through these trying times! Onward and upward!_

_For purposes of my own, this is a ship I simply cannot allow:_

Harry + Luna

Maybe we should call this one "Pottgood." "Larry" would work too.

So apparently, Harry has dropped Ginny, the smart, sensitive, beautiful and brave ginger kid, because he has suddenly gained a huge…madness fetish.

And that's where Luna Lovegood comes in. Or maybe she's suddenly sane; it depends on your version. But in order to _avoid_ OOCness (wink wink), we'll keep Luna her good ol' batty self.

So anyway, to the narrative…and beyond! One day, Harry's like,

"Ginny, I don't want you any more. I'm leaving you."

"Nooo!" says Ginny. "Why? Is there another girl? Who is it? WHO IS IT?"

And Harry, who is scared to death by Ginny's expression, goes,

"Yeah, obviously. Oi'm Harry-effin'-Potter! And come on, I mean, Oi've only dated, like, one other girl in my entire life! You don't honestly expect me to stay with the second girl I ever date!"

"Ron did," points out Ginny inconveniently.

"Whatevah," says Harry, and he huffs off to the library to meet Luna.

Luna's there, of course (because, even though she's cute, fun, and fairies-on-absinthe crazy, Luna's a Ravenclaw, and therefore never goes anywhere except class and the library, right?), and looks up to meet Harry's eyes. Harry thinks the big blue globes are gorgeous, highlighted by the nearly invisible eyebrows and the gurdyroot earrings. Luna, of course, looks surprised to see him. He wraps his arms around her waist and crushes her against him for a kiss.

Because Luna has suddenly gone from being Bold and Batty to being…a girl.

Right.

So anyway, Harry and Luna start, like, making out, because that image isn't totally nauseating, right? But then they're interrupted. Maybe by Professor Snape. Yeah, that's it. Because Snape is the Default Interruption of Happy Moment/Getter-Inner-Troubler/Suspicious Teacher/Killjoy (unless he's busy being Harry's lover…but more on that later. Eurgh). And Snape oozes out from behind a stack of books (how does he appear so suddenly? Maybe he really is a bat…). And he's like,

"Potter, clever remark, major diss, 42 points from Gryffindor." Then he adds, "and from Ravenclaw. I hate students. I'm a greasy goon who can't get my mind out of the 1980s."

Then Snape flutters his batty bat wings (how can he fly when he's that weighed down with grease?) out of the library.

Harry detaches himself from Luna with a madly-truly-deep sigh. There's some into-each-others'-eyes staring, yadda yadda, maybe the author (who is besotted with Harry/Luna her/himself) talks about juxtaposition of green and blue, blah blah blah, and other totally bogus things. You lose interest for a while, only continuing to read in hopes of comedy gold later in the fic. Then Harry's like,

"Wanna go for a walk by the lake?"

And Luna's like,

"Oh, sure, maybe we'll find some Freshwater Plimpies!"

And Harry's like,

"I love you, Loony!"

And Luna's like,

"Love you too, Hair!"

And fandom's like,

"Gag! Nicknames!"

So they go for a walk around the lake. Then they magically end up under some tree, kissing and such, with no one around but the giant squid (that pervert!). Then Harry's like,

"Wanna go have a lemon?" because he's suddenly a real teenager. Then Luna's like,

"No, Harry, we can't!"

"Why not?"

"This is a fanfic! You and me never have lemons in fanfiction, because for some reason, even our most devoted shippers can't imagine Luna Lovegood having sex!"

Harry dosen't argue. Or bother to mention what _he_ could imagine.

So anyway, the author drabbles on a little more, Harry and Luna meet here, kiss there, discuss Wrackspurts, yadda yadda. But then the author's like, _Okay, now I got Harry and Luna together, what am I going to do with them?_ So they decide to end it quickly and cheaply.

"Luna," says Harry one day. Luna knows something's wrong because he isn't using her "pet name."

"Luna," he says, "I don't want you any more. I'm leaving you."

"Oh, don't give me that BS. That's the same line you used on Ginny. Just tell me who the hell it is," says Luna. And Harry's like,

"Wow, Luna, someone's OOC…"

The death glare Luna gives him breaks him off. Luna may be a dancing-pigs-in-Cleopatra-costumes-on-a-boat insnane girl, but she's still a girl. That is probably the only valuable information we can possibly learn from Harry/Luna shippers.

"Well," Harry continues, uncomfortable, "It's…er…it's…'mione." He says in a small voice.

"HERMIONE GRANGER? YOU'RE LEAVING ME FOR HERMIONE GRANGER?" Luna's blue eyes resemble ice, which I didn't think they were capable of, but whatever. Don't shoot the messenger.

"Don't shoot the messenger," Harry mumbles.

"Harry," says Luna in a dangerous voice, "I honestly don't know what to say to you. Except, watch your step, or you just might find yourself, in bed one night, being attacked by the Gerracious Gerumplies of Greater Grisham. I know how to call them."

"I'm getting out of here," says Harry, fleeing into the arms of yet another disturbing and unlikely lover.

"Grublergrublergrubler! Ga-koooo! Ga-kooooo!" calls Luna, looking murderous.  
Ginny comes onto the scene, and says to Luna,

"Who'd the bastard leave you for?"

"'Mione…Ga-kooooOOOOOoooo!" says Luna.

"Oh, crap," mutters Ginny, "I guess Ron didn't stay with 'er after all. I hate it when OOC traitors are right. Hey, Luna, what're you doing?"

"Getting revenge. Grublergrublergrubler!"

"Oh. I can dig that. Ga-kooooo!"

Some additions to the glossary, for those who don't know…

**Drabbles:** Plotless little bits of story, usually fluff, humor or both. Popular among really really good writers. Also popular among writers who can't keep a coherent storyline.

**OOC:** Out of character. For example, kissing Harry would be very, VERY OOC for Luna. Most fanfic writers ignore this. Good fanfic writers obsess over avoiding this, but do it anyway.

**Lemon:** Oh, gawd, who doesn't know this? Alright, well…a lemon is a gratuitous sex scene. If you haven't figured this out yet then you are either very very new to this site, or a moron. Or probably both. I mean, even the giant squid knows this. Other forms: citrus, lemonade…basically anything fruit-related is probably hinting at "lemon."

A/N: Haha, this was fun. But next time, I think we better double the hilarity…maybe some Dumbledore/McGonagall ridicule is in order. (I considered, for the new and improved version, rearranging the chapters so that the order they were in made some semblance of sense. But then I realized how much that annoyed me with the Chronicles of Narnia. So I decided not to. Plus, wherever would I be without the Infamous Chapter Four? That chapter has gotten me two glorious deletions.)


	4. Dumbledore and McGonagall

(4) This is the chapter that started it all. Apparently these people don't like to be made fun of. Well, I like everything to be made fun of, including myself, which is why, in hopes of enjoying another couple flames this time 'round, I'm leaving this chapter in almost exactly its original form—making comments rather than edits—despite there being some things I'd prefer to delete. However, I'd really like it if no one 'reported' me this time. It is, quite frankly, getting annoying, and I'm sick of playing Internet games. All I want is to entertain, wink wink.

_So, here you go, for the third time…_

Dumbledore + McGonagall

Called 'MMAD,' because it is.

I don't even know where to begin. Okay…so, first off, if there was even the slightest chance of a romantic relationship between the two of them, don't you think they would at least TALK to each other more often? Secondly, Dumbledore is, like, 50 years older than McGonagall. Thirdishly, I really don't know how to break this to ya, I really don't…but Dumbledore is GAY. As in NOT STRAIGHT, as in NOT likely to fall in love with Minerva McGonagall, who is, in fact, a WOMAN. For those of you who didn't notice.

So let's just go with it, this highly unlikely (read: IMPOSSIBLE) situation. Let's say Dumbledore and McGonagall are LAH-vers. Or married. Which happens surprisingly often for something completely ludicrous. So there they are, being LAH-vers in the HOTTUB (Yech. I don't even want to _think_ about Dumbledore craving spiced meat (Note for Sumptuous Edition: this joke comes from a _Saturday Night Live_ skit, for those who didn't know)). So they're just soaking and…and being totally OOC when all the sudden an intelligent fan's face appears in the starry sky.

"Eurgh!" booms the intensely magnified voice of the fan. "What are you guys doing in there?"

"Well," says McGonagall in her usual indignantly dignified tone, "Actually, we're here because our author wrote us here. Which means that we belong here and you do not. So there," and since she's already being completely OOC, McGonagall sticks out her tongue at the starry face.

"What kind of insnane author would do that? Not only is it totally wrong for the books, but it's so unfair to torture you two like that!"

"I think," Dumbledore interjects reasonably at just the right moment, "that our dear author enjoys the irreverence of our banter and the slick-yet-dry demeanor which is the overtone to all of our discussions, and therefore would like to see us together more often."

"So write a friendship fic! No offense, but your guys' ship is just GROSS!"

"Lemon drop?" asks Dumbledore, cleverly changing the subject. The fan looks down and retches.

"EuurrAAAAArrrgh! I can't stand it any more! Since WHEN does Hogwarts have a hot tub-tub-tub-tub????" and with that echo the fan fades away. The fan swings back through the solar system, popping by Mars for a quick chat and then boomeranging back down to Earth so they can complain about some more fanfiction.

"What's up?" the Lady of Mars asks her neighbor, the Lady of Venus.

"Oh, not much…hot over here, as usual…oh shoot, the cat's on fire again…FLUFFY, GET BACK HERE!"

Meanwhile, on our planet, McGonagall has some important news for Dumbledore. She rushes up to Dumbledore's office, yelling "LICORICE WAND!" at the gargoyle so violently that several startled students jump. She dashes up the stairs, taking them four at a time, and bursts into the circular room.

"Albus," she says breathlessly, "I have something to tell you!" Then, without waiting for Dumbledore (in what the author apparently thinks is typical McGonagall style), she continues, "I've discovered the cure for dragon pox!"

"Oh Minerva," says Dumbledore, "that's wonderful news!" He swings her into his arms and kisses her. Erlack. "So…what is it? What is the cure?"

"Er…well, you see…it's more of a thing that…only women can do…" (I wish I could change this part. It comes from an inside joke between my cousin and I. Ah well. Flames abound!)

"Oh, that's okay. This fanfic exists, which apparently makes me bisexual. I can probably deal with this," says Dumbledore cheerfully. McGonagall gives him her severe-teacher look, which is totally creepy and un-called-for in this circumstance.

"Well, Albus…the cure is…you see…You kinda have to squish your boobs together. Three times. Just…like…this." McGonagall squished her boobs together three times.

"One question," says Dumbledore, peering at her from over the top of his half-moon spectacles (which are conspicuously missing in the movies! Hel-LO, people!).

"Yes, Albus?"

"Where on Earth did you learn to do that?"

"Er…let's magically pretend this transitions into something else important that I have to tell you."

"And what would that be?"

"I'm pregnant, Albus."

"Oh, that's okay. I'm gay."

_Yeah. Did I mention Dumbledore was gay?_

_You know, I've really had some very interesting flames for this chapter. One reviewer condescended to inform me that Mars and Venus were not next to each other. If you want to enlighten me similarly, just press that little button in the center! _


	5. Harry and Voldemort

_(5) I'd just like to say, before I start, that I owe a few people some thanks…(this very long part is not getting deleted, as I continue to owe these people thanks)._

_**Alice [alias: o0_Alice_Cullen_0o**__]—I never would have gotten chapter 4 written without you! Actually, I probably never would have started the story without you…thanks!_

_**Yayme2012**__—her Twilight fic, "Bad Fanfiction," was part of my inspiration._

_**MMAD shippers**__—without you, I wouldn't have nearly the amount of readers I have today. I owe you an enormous debt of gratitude._

_Also, I believe a __**glossary update**__ is in order…_

_**AU**__: Alternate Universe. Authors put this in their summaries as a disclaimer for something extremely not canon, like Dumbledore not dying or spontaneous time travel or irresponsible shipping. Not exactly a hard one, yet it took me a ridiculously long time to figure out._

Thanks for sitting through all that. Now, it is my great displeasure to present the utterly nauseating…

Harry + Voldemort

These shippers often refer to Voldy as Tom…so if you see "HP/TR SLASH" in a summary, beware.

Summary: ok so like wha tif Harry n Tom Riddle weren't always enemies. Harry goes back in time let's see what happens. I suck summarys, plz R&R. AU HP/TR. CHAPTER 45 UP!

Once upon a time, AU Harry Potter was happily living life at Hogwarts with his AU BFFs, AU Ron and AU Hermione. So the AU Golden Trio were happily living their lives (with Ginny conspicuously absent) when all of the sudden, for the sake of convenience, AU Harry is subjected to RAUWTT (Random AU Wizarding Time Travel).

He wakes up in random season of 1940-something (the actual date is much disputed between fans who bother to refer to the Harry Potter Encyclopedia and those who don't). So…let's say he magically appears at Hogwarts, even though Dippet totally wouldn't know to send him a letter and even if he did Dumbledore in his infinite wisdom would realize what was going on and send Harry back before the paradox could muddle the Wizarding world like so many scrambled cheese-eggs…

But anyway, Harry is sorted, but no one ever writes THAT scene—older Harry being sorted with the eleven-year-olds—even though it would be hilarious. And even though he's in Gryffindor, he still socializes with Slytherins. No, never mind, that's weird. Okay, so, for the sake of convenience, let's say he gets sorted into Slytherin. Yeah! Cuz that'll work, right?

Okay, so Harry Potter gets sorted into Slytherin in the 1940s. Then, magically, he meets Tom Riddle. Who is still being called Tom (the 'muggle name' he detests), even though this usually takes place in like his sixth year. But whatever.

So at first, predictably, Harry and Let's-Call-Me-Tom fight. Because that's what pretty much the entire series is about. You know…Harry hates He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Tom, Tommy Boy Himself is just plain evil…you get the gist. But eventually, inexplicably, The Dark Tom starts to show a teensy bit of a…human side? And then Harry suddenly starts seeing Lord Tomthedork as a brilliant, handsome, and charismatic character…kind of like the Edward Cullen of the Dark Arts. Man oh boy, that's just wrong…

So then, anyway, Harry catches The Dark Tom's attention by, like, being rlly good in DADA (defense against the dark arts, for those of you who are deficient in acronyms) classes, or something. And Young Tom Lin is like,

"Hey, Potter. I shouldn't know your name, since you're new and such, but since I'm the omniscient Lord Voldemort, let's pretend I do anyway." And Harry's like,

"Um, was there a point to this, Riddle?" And You-Know-Tom looks stricken, which is a common reaction for him, right? Whatev.

"You know my name?" he asks, sounding stricken.

"Oh, I know all about you," says Harry threateningly. Tom-Tommy-Tom-Tom-Tom-Tom-Tom regards Harry coolly for a moment, then oversteps the careful, calculating boundaries of his genius-level intelligence and says,

"Well, why don't you join me, Harry? There is no light or dark side, only power, and those too weak to seek it!"

"Wait," says Harry, "Are you quoting _Star Wars_ on me?"

"Shit," mutters I'm Tom and I'm Here To Help You. "I've GOT to stop doing crossovers…"

"WELL, I'LL NEVER JOIN YOU!!!!" yells Harry out of nowhere. "NOT IN A MILLION BAZILLION KATRILLION YEARS! SO THERE!" Harry sticks his tongue out at A Boy Named Tom, leaving the horrifying hottie alone and surprisingly (-coughcough-predictably-coughcough-) vulnerable.

Okay, so Harry and Tom keep going like that for a while, Harry violently denying to himself the UN-CALLED-FOR attraction he secretly feels for There-Are-Some-Who-Call-Me-Tom. Eventually, though, they're like, OMG BFFS 4RLZ. Then, one day, they're doing their potions homework or something, and Tom's like,

"I think maybe this common room is a little too crowded, don't you agree, Harry?" And with a burgeoning-evil-dark-lord death glare, Lord Tomthedork clears the Slytherin common room so that he and Harry are quite alone (Ooo-er).

"Harry," he says frankly (because open and honest is totally Voldy's style, right?), "I like you. A lot." And Harry's, like, dazzled by the blue eyes the author thinks Riddle has, but he's like,

"Yeah, I like you too. Salazar knows, I like you too much. But how can we ever be together? In the future you're a dark overlord of the Wizarding world, and I'm Harry effing Potter!" Tomboy just gives him a blank look.

"And besides," Harry says sadly, "you killed my parents, dooming me to an abusive childhood just like yours!"

"Oh, Harry!" says Tom, "that is absolutely the most sadderest thing I have positively ever heard!" And then they're, like, making out.

Harry Potter is making out with the Dark Lord.

Harry Potter is making out with the Dark Lord.

Harry Potter is making out with the Dark Lord.

Harry Potter is making out with the Dark Lord.

Harry Potter is making out with the Dark Lord.

The Boy Who Lived is making out with the Dark Lord.

The Boy Who Lived is making out with the Dark Lord.

The Boy Who Lived is making out with the Dark Lord.

The next few (unsettling) chapters I have almost nothing to say about. Except…no one makes sourer lemons than Lord Voldemort.

"So…" says Harry, "what happens when I get dragged inexplicably back into my own time period?"

"You missed your period? Oh, Harry, this is wonderful, we can name him Harry Jr., I've always hated the name Tom, and we can show the word what it's like when a child is raised completely immersed in our cause, and—"

"Tom, darling, I think you misunderstood me. I was talking about time periods—you know, decades, centuries, hours, days, minutes, milliseconds…time periods, right?"

"Oh." The Dark Tom's face falls. "So…what are we gonna do then?"

"I don't know," says Harry, trying to hide his exasperation, "that's what I was asking you."

"Ah. Well…we can't exactly go on seeing each other, can we? I'm a Dark Lord, you're my archnemesis…I suppose we'll have to go back to trying to kill each other."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right. Pity…"

……………………………………………………………………………………………

The next morning AU Harry awakes to find he has been transported back to his own time. He sees AU Ron and AU Hermione and walks over to them. Hermione squeals and gives him a hug.

"Oh, Harry, we haven't seen you in Ambiguous Amount of Time! What's your news? Why do you smell like citrus fruit?"

"Ah, that," says Harry, "That must be from last night…I was making lemonade," he explains shortly.

Strangely enough, neither Ron nor Hermione even give him a slightly quizzical look.

"We've missed you, mate," says Ron, clapping Harry on the back. Before Harry can respond, there's a loud rumbling noise. With a loud _**SMAP!**_ of thunder, a sinisterly serpentine Lord Voldemort randomly falls out of the sky.

"H-Harry?" he asks in his trademark high, cold voice™.

"Yeah, Tom," says Harry, "it's me."

"Harry, I…I…"

"Can't bring yourself to kill me? Yeah, me neither. I just don't much feel like it today." Hermione and Ron goggle at Harry disbelievingly.

"Oh, Harry…"

"Y'know what Tom? I've decided it doesn't matter. I don't care that you're a seventy-year-old, evil nitwit with an eighth of a soul and a face that resembles a demented, long-dead snake…I'm tired of hiding!"

"Me too!"

And then Harry Potter is making out with the Dark Lord.

Harry Potter is making out with the Dark Lord.

Harry Potter is making out with the Dark Lord.

Harry Potter is making out with the Dark Lord.

Harry Potter is making out with the Dark Lord.

The Boy Who Lived is making out with the Dark Lord.

The Boy Who Lived is making out with the Dark Lord.

The Boy Who Lived is making out with the Dark Lord.

Ron and Hermione are vaguely horrified. But then Hermione turns to Ron and says,

"Oh well. I guess I kind of expected that."

"You…bah…duh…what?" Ron replies matter-of-factly.

"I mean, anyone with any semblance of a gaydar could see that coming from a hundred bajillion miles away." Ron looks at her in awe.

"How is it that you know _everything_?"

"I'm Hermione Jean Granger," Hermione replies simply, "Pleased to meet you."

_Okay, that's your dose of dementia for the day. Sirius/Lupin next! _


	6. Sirius and Lupin

(6) Hello, darlings. Good to see your bright and shining faces at the computer, reading my new chapter like the loyal soldiers you are. For those veterans who've stuck with me since the first posting, all my love and my sincerest thanks. For my new readers, a warm welcome and a hope that you will enjoy yourself and continue to read this ill-treated fic.

Now, on to business…

Although I'm never averse to a bit of Marauder fluff, you have to admit that this is horrendously not-canon…

Disclaimer: The author is not against artistic liscense or male/male pairings. The author is not a murderer of love. The author does not own Harry Potter. If the author did own Harry Potter, maybe the author would not be so irritated by not-canon pairings.

Glossary Update

**Canon**: follows information given in book or by author. Harry/Ginny? Canon. Neville/Hannah Abbott (see Mugglenet)? Canon. Ron/Harry? NOT CANON!

Sirius + Lupin

_Let's just assume it's better not to know what nicknames this one has._

So let's start by disregarding the fact that A) Lupin is MARRIED to Nymphadora Tonks (female) and B) Sirius has posters of (JKR said, and I quote) "scantily clad Muggle girls" in his bedroom. I suppose that, like so many other characters, their sexual orientations have been flipped by the copious amounts of bad fanfiction clogging our web site. So Sirius and Lupin are suddenly hot for each other (oh, no wait…strike that, reverse it…they actually HAVE been hot for each other ever since they MET. According to the Fandom of the Strange). So…who comes out first? Usually it's Lupin, because if he wasn't married TO A WOMAN, then yes, even I would probably have had to say he was gay. Some authors have Sirius make the first move, but some have him reluctant to admit anything, even to himself. I'm not quite sure which of those is more irritating. Lupin's first up to the plate here, though, cuz I like him better anyway.

"Er…Padfoot?" because of course the first person Lupin tells is the guy he likes, right? That makes sense. But for the sake of the plot, let's get on with it.

"What is it, Moony?" asks Sirius, looking up from (insert thing that canon Sirius would never actually do here) and into Lupin's nervous (insert description of Lupin's 'golden' eyes here) eyes.

"I…er…wanted to…never mind." But Sirius, like, totally wants to know why Lupin is blushing.

"Why don't you sit down, Moony?" asks Sirius seriously (YES THAT WAS INTENTIONAL! GET OVER YOUR 'PUN NOT INTENDED' CRAP, AUTHORS! PUN IS TOTALLY INTENTED AND YOU KNOW IT!).

Lupin collapses on the armchair/bed/floor/bowtruckle next to Sirius. And almost always sighs. Apparently Sirius and Lupin are like, BFFs or something (BFFs? WTF? I didn't get the memo!), so they're used to comforting each other or whatever. So Sirius puts his arm around Lupin.

You've got to admit that's, like, the most awkward thing in like the whole universe.

"What's the matter, Moony?"

"I wanted to tell you something."

"You can tell me anything."

"Actually, Padfoot, I don't think you really wanna hear this one."

"Sure I do, if you're saying it." Since when did Sirius get all…not callous?

"Well, er…I…er…um, er…erm…I kinda…ah, erm, um, er, erm, um…eh…er…uh…" Sirius gives him a strange look as he dithers on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on—

"What is it, Moony? Spit it out."

"erwelluhikindaomgsiriusilikeblokesespeciallyyouivelikedyoueversincewemetandican'tlookatyouwithoutwantingtokissyouaccordingtothisinsnaneauthorcuzthattotallymakessenseright?"

"Of course it does, Moony! I secretly feel exactly the same way, but am too macho to admit it! I like you too!"

"Yay!"

(kiss)

(…)

"Sooo…" says Lupin.

"Sooo…" says Sirius.

"What are we going to do about this?"

"Well, I'd say we should probably start going out now," says Sirius seriously.

"Well, no shit, Sherlock. But, I mean…what are we going to tell people? The truth? What will James say?"

"Why, do you fancy him too?" asks Sirius, seriously alarmed.

"Wha..buh..ah…NO! I just…don't think…" Lupin sputters.

"Oh, I see. So you think we should keep it hidden?"

"Yeah, I think that'd be best. And just think of it…it'd be like our little secret. Something just between us."

"Think think think think think…" says Sirius. Lupin seriously resists the urge to slap him. "Yeah, I think I like that idea."

(kiss)

(staring into each others' eyes)

(Romancey stuff)

(enter James and Peter)

"Hey Moony…Padfoot…" James assesses the situation, slowly taking everything in.

"Hi guys!" yells Peter, clueless.

"What have you guys been up to?" asks James, his eyes glinting mischievously.

"Not much. Just sitting here." Lupin has James fixed in a death glare.

"D'oh?" says Clueless Peter, munching a donut.

Why is it that James always figures this out? I mean, it's not like Lupin and Sirius are bad at deception! Lupin is a WEREWOLF and Sirius is a soon-to-be FUGITIVE! I know James is their best friend, but he simply asks Lily out too often to be considered perceptive…

"Peter, I think I left my bag in the Great Hall…"

"I'll go get it, James!"

And with that, Wormy Wormtail is taken care of.

"Awwwwww," says James as soon as the three of them are alone. "Puppy love!"

Sirius and Lupin are nearly too surprised to glare.

Nearly.

"Aw, lighten up, guys." James grins that Jamesy grin of his. "You still have Peter to fool."

A moment of dawning comprehension, and then all three of them are going mad with laughter.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

Ambiguous amount of time later, Sirius and Lupin are in the Room of Requirement. James is being a lookout, because James is always in on any sort of deception, right? Whatever.

But what James doesn't bargain for is…for Lily to pass by him!

"Oy, Evans!" says James, always the charmer.

Lily ignores him.

"Go out with me, Evans?"

"Didn't we just learn copying charms, Potter?" asks Lily disdainfully. "Couldn't you just make a copy of yourself? Then you could date him…because that's who you're really in love with, isn't it?"

Four or five years ago James would have been fazed by this. But now he just calls, "Maybe next time!"

"In your dreams," Lily mutters.

"It's a date," James yells toward her retreating figure.

James didn't notice Snape slipping into the room behind him.

"Wth?" asks Sirius, looking up. Snape surveys the scene.

"OMG! Now I've got you, Lupin! You're a gay werewolf! Now I can use this information to socially destroy you and your obnoxious friends! And then Lily of the Dreamy Eyes will be ALL MINE! MWAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"Whatever, Snivellus," says Sirius.

"_Battus Bogeyus!_" says Lupin.

Thouroughly hexed, Snape runs out of the room.

James is still drooling after Lily.

All the sudden, Harry, Ron and Hermione are there, magically transported from the future. Ah, the wonders of the RAUWTT!!!!

They get in to the Room of Requirement too, because James is now asleep and dreaming of Lily.

"Lily," he mutters, "gooutwimme? Ah…but…no…I'M TOO YOUNG TO DIE! YOU'RE TOO PRETTY TO KILL ME!"

Meanwhile, in the actual Room of Requirement…

"OMG!" says Hermione, "Professor Lupin! But…you're married! You have a wife!"

"Huh?" says Lupin, looking up.

"OMG!" says Harry, "Sirius! You're back from the dead!"

"Huh?" says Sirius, looking up.

"Awwww," says Ron, "puppy love!"

"Ron," says Lupin, who magically somehow manages to partially remember the future, "Get out of here. You're not wanted."

"Gah!" says Ron, running out of the room, "I never wanted any of this! I'm just a poor deprived ginger kid!"

_The elements I live on: air, water, food, my laptop, and reviews. Reviews reviews reviews. If you have any requests for later chapters let me know. Oh, and by the way—there's something wrong with the file for the Snarmione chapter, so that one may be delayed a bit. But rest assured, I WILL bring you that marvel of depravity in good time!_


	7. Harry and Hermione

_(8)So, apparently my computer has some sort of vendetta against me, because it WILL NOT let me access the file for my "Snarmione" chapter. So I skipped straight to this one. Enjoy!_

_Before we begin, though, a few notes…_

_The first time around, I had a whole slew of flames from MMAD shippers. Apparently, I grew up in slime and live solely for the purpose of kicking puppies, killing babies and making MMAD shippers cry. I would point out all the things I didn't do wrong, but why bother? They probably wouldn't even read it._

_For the sumptuous edition, I would like to post the original Really Hilarious Irresponsible Shippers Flame. I never meant to, but now that the original story has been deleted and this review with it, you have no chance of finding out who wrote this, so their "dignity" is protected. So, here it is, the review that makes me feel happy inside:_

_I shouldn't have read this story. But for some reason, I did._

_After I read Chapter 4, I started crying._

_After Chapter 6, I had to count to ten silently to calm down._

_After Chapter 7, I was literally shaking with fury._

_These ships aren't just random and perverted. They're real. I am a_

_PROUD ADMM, RLSB, and HGSS shipper. Go ahead and tell me I'm a lunatic and should be locked up-oh wait, you've already done that, haven't you? Just because people like different things doesn't mean you have to bully them-this is like mocking someone's ethnicity, or religion, or sexual orientation. I hope this review does NOT "make you feel happy inside", because your story certainly did not do that for me._

_This wasn't meant to flame. I just wanted to let you know that not everyone appreciates your "humor"._

…_I kinda feel bad for this person; he/she/it is under the impression that race and sexual orientation are CHOICES—either that, or that shipping is some kind of inborn genetic thing. What an interesting life he/she/it must lead._

_Anyway._

Harry + Hermione

Most commonly referred to as H/HR, since "Harrmione" just doesn't have that great of a ring to it.

This one takes a lot less creativity than some other ships, since some (I won't say 'deranged,' I won't say 'deranged'…) fans manage to (delude) themselves into thinking that "the evidence was there all the time, open your eyes, don't you read?"

Having read each book multiple times, I can say with reasonable certainty that the evidence is not, was not, and never will be there.

What about the Yule Ball? Why was Hermione so angry with _Ron_ for not asking her? And in the tent? Harry and Hermione had months, in the tent, without Ron. If they liked each other in that way AT ALL, don't you think something would have happened? Oh! And the time in _Goblet of Fire_, when Ron wasn't speaking to Harry? I was under the impression that Harry and Hermione spent all of their time studying in the library. Or—pardon me—maybe what the author actually wrote is no basis for a fanfiction.

Well, since we already know that Hermione marries Ron and is still with him nineteen years after the Battle of Hogwarts, let's make up an illicit affair! So, er…Hermione (WEASLEY) and Ron (ALSO WEASLEY) send their two kids (ALSO ALSO WEASLEY) off to Hogwarts. Then…erm…what happens?

Well, I say we skip the setup, since I honestly can't think of anything that is the least bit plausible. In fact, that is what most H/Hr shippers do, isn't it—skip straight to the action without explaining a thing? After all, they've already made it clear their minds have no basis in reality.

….some fanfic somewhere…

"I love you, Hermione!"

"Oh, I love you too, but what about Ron?"

"Screw Ron!"

"I have!"

(…silence…)

"Ignore Ron!"

"Okay! I love you, Harry!"

(insert random conversation, kiss, or lemon depending on age and mental status of author)

…later…

Hermione sits at a desk in the living room, writing a letter by the firelight.

_Dear Harry_ (says the letter),

_Small talk yadda yadda, news of the TWO KIDS Ron and I have together. More about random stuff. Here's what RON is up to. Questions about your life. How's Ginny, who you're MARRIED to?_

_Oh, and by the way, I love you, blah blah blah, passion and luuurve, blah blah blah, but how will Ron feel about us being LAUV-ers? Worry worry worry. Love. When can we meet?_

_Sickeningly goopy sign-off,_

_Hermione._

Only it's longer. Even longer than you just imagined.

Ron is sitting in an armchair—IN THE ROOM—as Hermione rolls up the scroll and gives it to Pigwidgeon (who is somehow still alive) to take to Harry.

"Who're you writing to?" Ron asks casually, innocently and adorably.

"Oh…um…ah…er…um…Ministry," she says vaguely and guiltily. And Ron, because the cruel author has made him horribly imperceptive, just goes,

"Oh. Okay then." And returns to reading the _Daily Prophet_.

(a bit later, in some random bed…)

Harry and Hermione are lying next to each other (erlack. "I think of her as a sister, Ron. You know that"). They are both happy because they are LAUV-ers, and happiness is like mandatory for that, but Hermione is worrying (Because that is what she does. Just the way dogs pant, birds poop on the brand-new tank tops of unsuspecting picninckers, and Mary Sues crush hope, Hermione worries).

"Oh, Harry, my love, what are we going to do?"

"What do you mean?" asks Harry, who in these fanfics is not the sensitive do-gooder he usually is. Sigh.

"About…this?" Hermione gestures unnecessarily. "I mean, we can't keep going like this forever!" Harry looks confused.

"Why not?"

"Because it's hurting Ron! It's hurting Ginny! Melodrama! Angst!"

"Oh," says Harry, "didn't think of that." Good job, Harry! You have learned to use sarcasm!

"I mean…I can't exactly leave him, can I?"

Harry stares at her.

"Yes," he says, "you can. This is fanfiction. We don't have to be in character."

"Maybe you're right." She sighs. "After all, Gertrude the Gregarious left Qwitaffr the Querulous in 1666, and their lives turned out all right, eh?"

"Um…yeah, yeah, of course. Gertrude and…and…right then…" In case you haven't noticed, Harry is no longer paying attention.

"Ah, never mind," says Hermione, "for now, let's make some pasta with a nice sharp lemon sauce, maybe with a little extra lemon juice on top."

(convenient scene change)

"Harry," says Hermione, "I've figured out how we're going to work this out. Leaving our...leaving Ron and Ginny, I mean. We'll do it at the"—

"Hermione"—

"No, listen, Harry! We'll have to do it at the same time, so one won't be able to tell the other before we do. Then we'll meet at"—

"—Hermione, I've already left Ginny! That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"Oh." Hermione pauses, then becomes hysterical. "Bloody sodding bugger! Poor Ginny, abandoned by her true love and her best friend! I'd better go comfort her!"

"Hermione," says Harry, catching her before she can turn on the spot and Apparate, "You're the best friend."

"OMD," says Hermione, paling, "Ron! Melodrama! Angst!"

She apparates.

Harry stands there for a moment, confused, before he, in all his intelligence, decides he'd better Apparate to Hermione's house, because that's the best place to be. Oh, OOC Harry is such a smarticle!

Hermione is already there, obviously.

"Ron, honey!" she calls. Then she turns around and sees Harry. "What the bloody zounds are you doing here?" she accuses in a whisper.

"Well…I…er, I thought…" he states eloquently.

"Harry, mate!" says poor oblivious Ron, appearing at the top of the stairs (because that's, like, default place to appear in a house. Don't look at me like that, you know it's true!). "'Mione!" he adds (GAH! Am I the only one who hates it when people abbreviate her name?).

"Hello darling," says Hermione affectionately, "I have something to tell you."

"Oh?" says Ron, catching on to the serious tone in her voice, but not nearly predicting the danger ahead. (author struggles to make this scene funny)

"Yeah," says Harry competently. "Something to…er…tell yer…I mean you…" Hermione glares at him.

"We, ah…that is to say, I…" Hermione bursts into tears. Ron catches on, because he's an inTELLigent ginger kid.

"Harry, mate?"

"Yeah, we…"

"Oh." Ron stands there for a moment, then bursts out in an angerous outburst. "You know, I may be thirty-six years old, an Auror, and the father of two kids (one ginger and one regular), but I'm still just a poor deprived ginger kid at heart! How could you do this to me?" Ron is shaking with anger, then he starts crying (AWWWW!).

Poor Ron! Okay, if you love Ron (and you all do, right? RIGHT? -glares-) then clap your hands three times and repeat after me: I DO believe in ginger kids, I DO, I DO!

Ron takes courage from your support, but just enough to stop crying (AWWWW!).

"'Mione?" he abbreviates.

"I don't…gah!" says Hermione calmly through her raging tempest of tears.

Ginny Apparates in, holding Lily's hand. Her daughter Lily, I mean, not her dead mother-in-law. That would be weird.

"Ron, Harry's just been, he's"—Ginny breaks off when she sees the scene around her. "Oh."

(Author saves this chapter from going emo at the last minute)

Dumbledore appears.

"OMD," says Ron, "It's Dumbledore, back from the dead!"

"Hello, Mr. Weasley," says Dumbledore. He looks around and says, "Oh, this is dreadfully serious, isn't it? Ginny, go and get your lute, we'll have a dance party to break the tension!"

"Lute?" asks Harry doubtfully, wondering if being dead for so long had caused Dumbledore's brain to rot.

"Oh yes," says Dumbledore serenely, "Mrs. Potter is quite the accomplished Lute player. She's won five festivals, didn't you know?" Harry looks at Ginny.

"There's no end to what you can do, is there?" Ginny grins sheepishly.

"Professor Dumbledore," says Hermione, regaining the pretentious tone of voice she had abandoned as soon as Emma Watson stopped playing her character, "what do YOU suggest we do about this situation?" She doesn't need to explain, of course, because Dumbledore the all-sage wise man knows everything.

"I would say," says Dumbledore in an irritatingly lofty tone of voice, "that if you look in the cabinet on the left you'll see where your hearts truly lie." Then he slowly fades away.

"Well then," says Ron.

"Well, I'm going to go look, then," says Hermione. There is some clanging as she opens the kitchen cabinet (the one on the left) and begins to rifle through it. "There's nothing in here except some old baked beans, some Goldfish and a…RONALD WEASLEY, WHAT THE BUGGER IS THAT DOING IN THERE?"

"Well," says Harry, "That's it then. Baked beans are the answer. Dumbledore is never wrong." He stands up. Lily tugs on his shirt, and he looks down at her.

"No, daddy, baked beans can't be the answer."

"Whyever not, Lily-flower?"

"Because they have ham in them. Didn't I tell you? I'm a vegetarian now."

"Oh." Harry thinks for a moment. "Right then. All rise to worship the Almighty Goldfish!"

_A/N: Couldn't help it. This chapter just kinda happened._

_Review, or be subjected to a revamped_ Oklahoma!


	8. Ron and Harry

_(9) I still can't access my Snarmione chapter, so I'm continuing this one-off chapter sequence until I can. For those of you who love talking rats and Neville, I'm sorry._

_She's right, of course. And how could I not lampoon this ship? There's so much to make fun of…although I admit it's a lot less disturbing than, say…Voldemort/McGonagall._

_I find researching for this fic very disturbing, and I don't know why I do it…maybe it's out of some morbid fascination…or maybe it's cuz I'm just so devoted to you all ;) _

_Either way, I press onwards!_

_Without further ado, because I really am rambling quite profusely…_

Ron + Harry

If this ship has a nickname, I don't know it…

Today is our time to focus on Ron the Ginger. We all know him, we all love him (We love him, right? RIGHT? -death glare-), and we all agree that it's time he _get_ some love. Because he's the one who always gets duped in fanfiction.

So…we all agree he needs to be loved.

But by HARRY? I mean, sure, brotherly love, all that…they're best friends…but as a couple? Is that really necessary? C?an I ?get enou?h ques?ion mar?ks in ?here?

-Sighs exasperatedly- I certainly hope I don't need to argue about how not-canon this one is. I mean, Ha-lloooOO! See Epilogue, _Deathly Hallows_. Srsly. Even if you're a Ron/Harry pornsmith, you have to concede that it's unlikely.

So…how are Harry/Ron slashes done? Well, usually they're oneshots, set in AU Hogwarts (the ones that attempt to keep canon aren't even worth thinking about). Often set to "Teardrops On My Guitar," they involve our favorite ginger kid getting slighted yet again. Sometimes they end up having a relationship after the War. We'll set this one in Hogwarts, because, just like Ron, the school needs a little love.

-

"Ron, what's up?" asks a concerned Hermione. Ron looks up hurriedly from the very obvious daydreaming he has been doing for the last twenty minutes.

"Nothing, 'Mione (gah!). I'm fine." Hmmm…he sounds a little defensive. Wonder why?

"Oh, don't give me that crap. I'm Hermione Granger, remember? I know everything. Plus, I've totally been in love with you since _Chamber of Secrets_, so I notice your every little quirk. You just drooled on this season's Quidditch schedule. Something's up. Spill, home skillet." Ron doesn't even give her a strange look.

"True," he concedes. He stands up gingerly. "I'll bite. Something's up." (see what I've done here? I've made Hermione sound vaguely like Juno McGuff and Ron say something other than "Blimey" or "Bloody Hell"! Oh, I do love fanfiction. Now just imagine what I could do to the characters if this _wasn't_ a comedyfic!).

"What's your damage? You've been completely space-tastic lately. I had to write 22.5% more of your Potions essay than usual last night!"

"It's…Harry. I can't seem to get him off my mind."

"Oh, I know. I'm so worried about him. He's been so upset lately. I mean, it's a huge burden having to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Tom all by yourself, with nobody but a know-it-all, a ginger kid, and a maddeningly vague sage to help you! I know it's completely irrational, but sometimes I even worry that he'll do something crazy like drop out of school and go on a super-long camping trip to hunt for Voldemort!" We know something is really wrong with poor Ron, because he still does not give her a strange look.

"No, it's not that…although of course I've been worried too…it's…I can trust you, right, Hermione?"

"No shit, Sherlock. Did it really take you six years to figure that out?"

"Well…it's his…Harryhasdreamyeyes."

"What?" Hermione's voice is maybe about three googl times sharper than strictly necessary. Or rather, three googl times sharper than would be strictly necessary if this wasn't the most unbelievable thing to happen since Sirius Black being killed off by a bit of cloth with holes in it.

"Hermione, I think…I think I like Harry."

"Dude," says Hermione, "ya think? You're best friends, remember?" Hermione is in Deny-oh-nee!

"No, it's more than that. I mean, look at him—he's so gorgeous, and he's so brave and strong and sensitive and intelligent…who wouldn't fall in love with that?" Ron's eyes glaze over. Whoa-wee, Ginger…

"Well…the only people I can think of are me…and you! You know, his BEST FRIENDS?" Hermione is hysterical. Perfect moment for Emma the Histrionic.

"Hermione," Ron says, looking at her, "you're mad at me, aren't you?"

"I'm…I'm…HOLY BUTTERBEER, RON! YES I AM MAD AT YOU! I'VE BEEN SENDING YOU SIGNALS SINCE YEAR THREE, AND YOU'VE BEEN ACTING LIKE YOU'RE CRAZY FOR ME, AND NOW ALL OF THE SUDDEN…THE…THIS IS ONE PLOT TWIST I CAN'T HANDLE!"

"That's odd," says Ron the Infatuated calmly, "because you seemed to accept it pretty readily when the most feared mass murderer in the wizarding world turned out to be Harry's benevolent godfather, my rat turned out to be a long-dead Death Eater, and our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher turned out to be a werewolf all in the same night."

"Ronald Weasley," says Hermione, "you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet." All cheer for the best line in _Order of the Phoenix_, even though it was left out of the movie!

"Well, gosh, Hermione," says Ron, "Love ya too."

-

Later, Hermione goes to Harry of the Dreamy Eyes (son of Lily of the Dreamy Eyes, esq.), planning to discern whether he shares Ron's feelings. Not the whole Harry's-gorgeous part; we already know Harry knows we reluctantly admit he's a hunk. I mean, she wants to know whether Harry likes Ron back.

"Lately, you seem about as cheerful as an emo kid whose cat just died," Hermione lies. "What's up?"

"It's…it's Ron," says Harry sadly. Hermione is surprised; she expected a strange look from him, at the very least.

"Oh?" says Hermione faintly.

"Yeah. Hermione…I can trust you, right?"

"OH MY DUMBLEDORE," says Hermione, "what is it with you people? Of course you can trust me! Do you know where you would be if I couldn't keep a secret? Dead, expelled, dead, petrified, dead, godfather-less, friendless, friendless again, dead, expelled again, dead, in Azkaban, soul-less, dead and under Voldemort's rule! In case you are honestly thick enough not to have figured it out, yes, you can trust me! Never underestimate Hermione Jean Granger!" So there!

"Okay," says Harry obliviously, "good. Because there's something I need to get off my chest."

"That dragon tattoo? I've been meaning to talk to you about that. You've got to have it removed before you get over yourself, admit your feelings and start going out with Ginny. Do you know what she would say if she saw you really had that?"

"Hermione," says Harry, looking at her sadly, "I don't want to go out with Ginny. And I had that tattoo removed just the other day. To tell you the truth…I don't think Ron would really like it either."

"R…Ron?" says Hermione weakly.

"Yeah," says Harry, "I've been in love with him for ages. Surely you could tell?" he looks at her pleadingly.

"No, I bloody well could not tell! It's been you and Ginny since year four!"

"How do you figure?" asks Harry dully. Poor little Boy-Who-Lived-to-be-Emo.

"Well…I mean, that's when you started crushing on Cho, which was so obviously a ploy to distract us from Ginger Jr. that no one expected it to last half as long as it did!" Hermione says sensibly.

"Oh," says Harry dully.

"So…you really like Ron."

"Yeah. I _really_ like Ron."

"Oh," says Hermione, "Fruit Loops on a biscuit. There goes my backup plan."

-

So now we're in the middle of a late-night-in-the-Gryffindor-common-room-discussion-about-Voldemort. Ron and Harry are both being really short with Hermione. Finally, she's just like,

"Give it up, you two! I know you fancy each other, you know you fancy each other, just make out already and get it overwith!"

"Ron?" says Harry.

"Harry?" says Ron.

"Gah!" says Hermione.

(Harry and Ron make out.)

(Fandom cringes.)

(Hermione cries.)

-

(later…)

Harry and Ron are in the Room of Requirement. They have no guard outside, because Hermione, always the rational one, is no longer speaking to either of them. Ginny needs to hide the evidence of the latest prank she helped Fred and George execute (Hey, it's fanfiction. Just go with it. That's what these shippers expect you to do, and you can't disappoint the shippers, can you?).

Harry, in all his infinite wisdom, has chosen the Room of Hidden Things. Remember what happened last time he chose the Room of Hidden Things? Yeah. Like I said, real intelligent.

"WOT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING?" See what I'm doing here? Ginny is the one using British expletives, instead of Ron. Because I REFUSE to let Ron say "bloody hell."

"Forking."

"WOT?" Oh, yes, Ginny is making a face. Probably one akin to the one I'm making. Do you know, it's rather hard to type when your keyboard is trying to throw up.

"Erm…lemon chicken with lemon sauce and a side of lemon couscous."

"I…I think I'm a vegetarian," says Ginny, and faints. If she weren't unconscious, she could have pointed out that it was more of a RHETORICAL question.

"Bollocks," says Harry, "wot are we gonnoo do about her then?"

"I dunno," says Ron.

"She's your sister."

"She's your almost-lover."

"Ooh! 'Almost Lover'! That's a great song!"

"Wot?"

"Never mind. Suffice to say that Muggles have better music." Take that, Wizarding World!

Aaaaaand…before the author starts off on (God forbid) a tangent, Fred and George come in.

"What's this, Fred?"

"I dunno, George, what _is_ this?" They glare at Harry and Ron in perfect unison.

"Ah…" says Ron.

"Er…" says Harry.

"Well, George, one thing's clear."

"What's that, Fred?"

"They have clearly been hiding something from us."

"Very true. You know, I don't much like it when people hide things from us. I prefer to be the one hiding things from the rest of the world."

"Yes, that's definitely more fun."

Harry and Mr. Ginger Jr. look at each other.

"So…does this mean you won't tell anybody?" Ron ventures.

"Naw," says Fred, "We'll just take the mickey out of you. We won't tell as long as you put up with it." He and George share a look of diabolical glee. Ron looks scared. The fear slowly begins to leave his face, but bounces right back up there as Hermione bursts in.

"Harry—Ron—get up!" she says harriedly. And no, I don't mean "hurriedly-but-in-a-Brooklyn-accent," I mean "in a harried manner."

"Wot?" says Harry rather rudely. Hermione rolls her eyes.

"This is hardly the time, Harry. Oh, all right, I forgive you. Now will you get up? You don't have much time! Just put on some pants, get your wands and go!" Now is finally the moment for everyone to give Hermione a strange look. Ha! You didn't see that coming, did you? No one gave her a…strange look…earlier in the…never mind. Harry, Mr. Ginger Jr, Ginger Thing One and Ginger Thing Two all give her a strange look.

"Hurry!" she screeches.

"Erm…Hermione?" says Ron, "what's going on?"

"Voldemort's in the castle! Hurry, we've no time to lose!"

However, Hermione's warning comes too late. Harry and Ron barely have their pants on (they were delayed by the Ginger Twins' Comments) when Vol-D-Mort himself appears in the doorway.

"Zounds," mutters Harry.

"Wot?" says Ron.

"My pants are on backwards," mutters Harry.

"Those are my pants," says Ron.

"That's awkward," interjects Voldamort.

"Why are our subjects and verbs so oddly placed?" questions Hermione.

"Just go with the flow, Granger Gal," reproofs George.

"Oh," mutters Voldumort, "I suppose I'd better wreak some havoc…" Voldy wields his Wand of Evil World-Dominating Power at the ceiling and yells some random incantation I won't bother to print because nobody could pronounce it anyway.

The ceiling falls in, smushing Fred.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" yells George. No one even glares at him for being melodramatic.

(enter **script forma**t)

**Voldy the Moldy**: Well, I guess my work here is done. I have killed the vile Fred Weasley! -chortles evilly-

**Me**: Fred's not dead, he's just sleeping!

**Every Other Harry Potter Fan**: Yeah! Don't talk about Fweddykins like that!

(exeunt **Harry Potter fans**. **Script format** skulks away miserably, muttering "just…sleeping…")

"Well," says He-Who-Must-Be-Called-Lord-Because-He-Is-Clearly-Making-Up-For-Something, "I guess I'm done here."

"Yes," says Harry, glaring, "you are."

"I'll just be going, then." Tom "Lord Voldemort" Riddle begins to sidle away. "Because clearly you're busy here."

Ron glares at Voldy. Hermione glares at Ron.

"So I'll be leaving then. Unless…"

"Wot?" says Harry venomously, still glaring.

"You wouldn't happen to…to be looking for…another…?"

Harry's jaw drops. Ron picks it up, but is unable to deal any farther with it as his own has fallen to the floor. Really, there are jaws bouncing all over the place. And Ickle Fweddykins is rolling about in the GRAVE HE IS NOT IN BECAUSE HE IS NOT DEAD Not Dead not dead…(and gagging).

"Hey," says Vuldimort, "can you blame me for trying? I'm a seventy-year-old lizard goon from Planet Evil. What are my options? Bellatrix Lestrange, or a buffoon under the Imperius Curse. Equally unattractive."

A pause.

"Bloody hell," says Ron.

_A/N: Another chapter finished…and since I've just come back from a two-month I'm-too-lazy-to-edit stint, I believe a Rogers and Hamerstein reprise is in order…_

_OOOOOOOOOOh-reviewers, when I read your reviews I smile_

_Because they're so sweet_

_They're quite a treat _

_When they say stuff about my fanfic!_

_OOOOOOOOOOO-oh readers if you thought at all 'bout this story,_

_Please, please review it_

_Just type a bit_

'_Cuz I'm really lovin' those reviews!_

_Now hurry up and click the little blue button, before I re-create the Tiresomely Long Ballet About Nothing from the show._

_Now, THERE would be just cause for deletion._

_No, I'm kidding. It wouldn't be. Seriously, don't even think about it._


	9. Snape and Hermione

_Hey guys! So, I FINALLY figured out how to access this file! The chapter that's infamously bizarre and several chapters overdue…_

_This is the request that prompted me to write this chapter, the first time around:_

_"__Can you do Hermione/Snape next? The idea makes my eyeballs bleed and kittens cry." [from amy-the-rat]_

_I share your sentiments, Amy. _

_Disclaimermabobber: I'm pretty sure that anyone who's been reading this whole time can tell I'm not JKR. I'm not even British. Sigh. _

_Also, I just wanted to inform you that yes, I do sometimes get my plot ideas from preexisting fanfics. No, I do not name names. Their shame/courage/insnanity is completely their own, and not mine to encroach upon. If you're really desperate to read the originals, look the pairings up._

_Anyway…_

Snape + Hermione

The letters "SSHG" should serve as fair warning…

I'm sorry, but I quite literally cannot read straight through one of these without making an extremely unattractive face. There is just SO MUCH wrong with this…First off, Snape is a creepy greasy sallow stinky OLD werebat. Second of all, isn't Hermione supposed to be SMART? Smart girls don't fall for grossly older men who they think are Death Eaters. Third, most of these authors use Hermione essentially as a Mary Sue character, and Snape SHOULD NOT have Mary Sues. Plus, Hermione's better than that. Fourth of all…ewewewewewewEWEWEWEWEW**EW**!!!!!!!! I don't even want to think about this any more. But I must write this chapter. I MUST finish this chapter. FOR FANDOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!

Whoo-wee, that was exhilarating. Anyway, there are several different plots that force this far-fetched occurrence to…occur. The Secret Marriage one is good, but my personal favorite is the Snape-faked-his-death-and-now-he-hangs-with-the-Order-and-Hermione's-fellow-seventeen-year-olds-are-totally-okay-with-it scenario. I even read one where somehow Hermione had saved him without knowing it even though she left the room as soon as Nagini attacked…whatever. The point is, impossible.

Okay, so…Severus Snape rising from the dead. Right then.

"Okay," says Hermione, addressing Harry and Ron, "so for some reason we're hanging out by Snape's grave. Oh, I guess it's 'cause JKR made us suddenly think Snape is a hero at the end of DH. Because that totally makes sense, right?"

"OMD!" says Ron, "What was that noise?"

"OMD?" asks Harry.

"Oh My Dumbledore," offers Hermione.

Harry mutters something that sounds very much like "…bloody knows everything…"

"OMD! What was that noise?" Ron asks again, only this time with a little less verve.

"Whatnoisewhere?" yells Harry. He pulls his wand out and begins to cast spells in every direction.

"Whoa, Harry, there's no need for that!" says Ron.

"Yeah, Harry, that was totally uncalled for!" says Hermione.

Harry stops.

Unfortunately, as they were distracted by Harry's random spell casting, the trio did not notice the ghost/effigy/actual body of Severus Snape ooze up behind them.

"Oh, hey, Professor Snape," says Hermione, who is cool with it from the very start, because suddenly she's no longer uptight.

"Ten points from Gryffindor."

"For what?" asks Ron, angering quickly as Ron so often does.

"Being too casual in manner with her professors. And another five for your lack of restraint, Weasley," he adds in that oily, greasy, and generally oozy voice of his.

"But…we're not even in school any more! Ron, Hermione and I have pseudo-graduated-thingy, and you're dead!"

"Incorrect, Potter, I am not dead. I am very, very much alive." Unfortunately. "And another fifteen points will taken from Gryffindor, for your impertinence, and just generally because I don't like you and because I want to punish James Potter posthumously for making me feel incompetent and taking away the love of my life!"

"Oh Sev!" yells Hermione out of the blue, "You're so romantic in the way you keep pining after Lily, even though she's been dead a ridiculously long time! I love you!" And then Snape, suddenly all goopy-mush, is like,

"OMG! I love you too, disgustingly younger student!"

"Hooray! We'll have a secret relationship and then you'll get me an emerald engagement ring because that's totally my style and I'm going to be OOC-gushy and you're going to be OOC-romantic and we'll be HAPPY!" Hermione gushes.

(kiss)

"Ewwwwwwwwwww," says Harry.

Ron just bursts into tears. I think now is a good time to point out that he is just a poor deprived ginger kid, and never asked for any of this.

Later on, in the Room of Requirement (which is pretty much the default room for romance fics), and in script format (just for a bit, because it's easier)…

Snape: I love you, Granger.

Hermione: But why?

Snape: I think it stems back to my un-called for and totally unrequited love for Lily Evans. You two have so much in common.

Hermione: Like what?

Snape: Well, for one, you're both know-it-alls. And then, you were both drawn to Potter men, even though they are/were both arrogant toerags. And…you were both inexplicably drawn to me.

Hermione: OMG! It's so hot when you start acting like a pathetic but smartass oozy loser! I love you, Professor Snape!

(kiss)

(exit script format)

Harry and Ron enter, but Snape and Hermione magically don't notice. So anyway, all the sudden, Snape breaks away from Hermione (EW! EW! THEY HAD BEEN KISSING! EURGH, I DON'T EVEN WANT TO THINK ABOUT IT!!!!)

"Granger," he says, "I have something to tell you."

"What is it, Sevvy?" asks Hermione sycophantically.

"Eurgh," whispers Ron to Harry.

Snape speaks again. "I…I'm…I'm a werebat, Granger," he oozes.

"Oh, okay! So…wait…if you…then do you…?" asks Hermione worriedly.

"Wait…what? Oh! OMG! No, no! Absoloutely not!"

"Oh, good," she says, "cuz I'm pretty sure that would be animal abuse…"

"Yeah," whispers Harry to Ron, "that's definetly punishable by Muggle law. And rightly so…" he shivers.

"So…can you show me?" Hermione simpers OOC-ly.

"Show you what?"

"How you turn into a bat!" Hermione says indignantly, blushing.

"This is hella creepy," Ron whispers. His face resembles that of someone who just swallowed a baby Blast-Ended Skrewt bottom first, while watching Hayden Christensen "act."

"Oh! Right! Anything for you, Granger!" Ugh. Ooey-gooey(er) Snape is quite nauseating.

Snape's figure is suddenly backed with strobe lights as he twists and reshapes. Suddenly there is a giant rodent in Hermione's arms, where Snape was [Eek! Happyplacehappyplacehappyplace!] a moment ago.

"Ooooo!" says Hermione, "Can you fly?"

Bat-Snape flaps his wings a bit, but does not take off. Then he flaps them harder. Still, nothing happens. Ron is cracking up.

"OMD," he giggles, "Bat-Snape is too oily to fly! Oh, this is better than the time Fred and George made Oliver Wood and Angelina Johnson switch bodies!"

"When did that happen?" asks Harry.

"First year…you'd never guess that it was irreversible…"

"Oh. That's awkward," says Harry.

"Oooo," says Hermione, "Can you call the other bat-people?"

Bat-Snape oozes a high-pitched keen. There is a rustling, and then all the sudden the room is completely filled with rats.

"OMD," says Hermione, "Rat people! Awwweeee, how cute!!!! Here, ratty ratty ratty!"

"We are here as emissaries from the planet Ooze," says Random Rat Number One. "We come in peace to take over your world and bite the faces of infant babies. And don't call us cute!"

"Awwww, the cute little ratty rat speaks!"

"Um, Harry?" whispers Ron, "I think they're serious."

"You're kidding, right?" Harry whispers flatly.

"No, I'm totally serious," he says, bemused, "because, come to think of it, for some reason I don't trust rats."

"Wonder why that is?" replies Harry without a trace of snarcasm in his voice.

"Yeah," says Ron, "I dunno."

They watch as the legions of rats from planet Ooze advance on Hermione, who is still treating them like adorable pets. Then, all of the sudden, Bat-Snape morphs (with much specialty lighting) back into Regular Snape From Planet Ooze.

"Granger," he oozes, "my love for you is so strong that I will kill my own gelatinous allies to protect your life!" He points his wand at the rats. "_Avada Kedavra Rattus Maximus_!" he shouts.

Ron falls dead.

The rats grow ten times bigger.

"Well, rats," says Snape, "that's not at all the effect I had in mind."

"It's alright, Sevvie," says OOC Hermione [hey that rhymes! Hate lemons like limes!] "Even as our faces are eaten by rats, our love will never die!"

[kiss]

"Severusimus," says the Leader of the Rats [hereby known as Wayne], "you have failed your people, turning traitor for this human filth. I'm sorry, friend, I truly am…but we are going to have to eat you. Right, lads, dig in, but save the eyeballs for me! BOTH PAIRS!"

[Snape: eaten by rats]

"Your Squeakiness?" says Random Rat One [hereby known as Bob] cautiously.

"Yes, Lieutenant Bob?" acknowledges Wayne loftily.

"Ca—can…I mean…my buddies and I," he gestures toward a group of tastefully decorated rat-people from planet Ooze, who are standing nervously behind him, "Can we…have the girl?"

"Can you…what? Oh, yes! Just remember—"

"Save the eyeballs for you. Yes, I know sir." He turns to the tastefully decorated rodents behind him. "Right, lads! You heard what he said! Save the eyeballs!"

"You know," says Hermione, "that eyeball thing is cree"—

[Hermione: eaten by rats]

"Bloody buggeration hellacious frumptastic ZOUNDS!" says Harry.

[Harry: eaten by rats very slowly]

Ron [who has come back to life through some editing fluke] blinks at the rats for a moment. The rats blink back. Then, all of the sudden, Bob shouts,

"Get the ginger!"

"You know," says Ron as the tastefully decorated rat people advance menacingly towards him, "I'm just a poor deprived"—

[Ron: eaten by rats! Awwwww…]

Enter Neville.

Neville: -looks at Harry, Ron and Hermione (or what's left of them)- Ha! Whose grandmother is a Blast-Ended Skank now?

_Alright, there ya go! Comments (hopefully)? Questions (usually, unfortunately)? Requests (please)? Review! PM! Just press the mouse button then press some keyboard buttons!_

_-sings-_

_Let's start at the review button_

_A very good place to start_

_When you read, you begin with "ABC"_

_When you review you begin with "Review: Go!"_

"_Review: Go!"_

The first action just happens to be

"_Review: Go!"_

_Aw, come on! I deserve a review for that! I just did a tap dance! Besides, if you don't review, I may have to do a Rogers and Hamerstein reprise…-threatening look- Or, better yet, I could hunt you down and report your story!_


	10. Twincest!

_Continuing in my bringing back of chapters from the "you-can't-access-this" vaults (because I'm a GENIUS), I bring you this…chapter…thing._

_Oh! I believe a glossary update is necessary at this point in time…_

_**Mpreg**__: Male pregnancy. Most prevalent in slashes, obviously. Draco/Harry ones are the worst. I quote one of my least favorite: "where the hell is it going to come out?" Well, I guess you shoulda thought of that before you posted an Mpreg, eh? Mpregs are for seahorses!_

_Reviews, plz! Or I will make you eat a virtual Canary Creams! And then I will have a legion of befeared Canary minions at my disposal! Virtually! Fear me! Mwahahahahaha!_

_Right-o then…_

Fred + George

We all know it as "Twincest"…

Raise your hand if you think this ship is creepy!

There. You just got an answer to a great question of Physics: What happens when every single person in the universe raises his or her hand simultaneously?

(Because that's totally the kind of crap Physicists come up with.)

Anyway, believe it or not, this seemingly impossible ship is relatively common among the teenage insane. It's either written by Ginger Twin-obsessed fangirls/boys or really depraved fangirls/boys or the Giant Squid (because nobody trusts the Giant Squid).

So…yes, we all agree that Fred and George belong together…but only because they are BROTHERS. TWIN brothers. I mean, does anybody else here…? Nevermind. Ew.

Anyway…

And by the way, if Twincest happened in the Renaissance, all involved would get drawn, quartered, burned at the stake, beheaded, and hanged, though probably not in that order. Just sayin'…

Habia una vez, Fred and George are in their shared bedroom—which they share because they are BROTHERS—at the Burrow. For some reason, neither of them can sleep.

"Oy, George!" says Fred.

"Yes, Fred?" responds George.

"I can't sleep."

"Me neither."

Both twins grin mischievously. Millions of fangirls faint.

"What do you wanna do, Fred?"

"I got a couple of ideas, George…" Millions of fangirls faint again, but for a very different (and less pleasant) reason.

--One month later—

"Oy, Freddykins, come here!"

"What is it, Georgey Porgey?"

"Remember that night about a month ago?"

"How could I forget? Our first lemon…" They sigh, as if remembering a particularly well-planned prank. But we know better. HOW COULD YOU, FWEDDYKINS?

"Well," says George, "I've got some news for you…" and he shows Fred a little white plastic stick.

"What is this, some kind of Muggle wand?"

"No! See right there, where it's a bit pink"—

"Where what's a bit pink?"

"Shut up, Fred, I mean the stick"—

"OH MY DUMBLEDORE," shouts Fweddykins, finally catching on, "WE'RE HAVING AN MPREG!" Then he takes George by the hands and starts dancing about, humming the tune of "A Little Priest" from _Sweeney Todd_…

"Fred! Fred! Stop dancing! This is no laughing matter!" Fred-Baby looks confused.

"Wot did you just say to me?" he asks George, cocking his head.

"I said—I said—DON'T TWIST MY WORDS!"

Fred gives George a funny look. I do believe we've never seen George actually furious before…

"Fred," says George quietly, "don't you realize what this means? We can't have an Mpreg. We're twins. Even you should know that twincest Mpregs result in…in a squid-baby, at the very least! DO YOU REALIZE WHAT A SQUID-BABY WOULD DO TO BUSINESS? THERE GO THE CUSTOMERS, OFF TO LOOK AT THE SQUID-FREAK-BABY-THING…" George is going into hysterics now.

"Relax, George," says Fred soothingly, "maybe it'll be a cute monster-baby. Like a giant ginger Pygmy Puff!"

"So…so we're keeping it then?" sniffles poor little Ginger Thing Two.

"If that's what you want," replies Fred tenderly. Did I mention erlack? Erlack.

"I think we should. After all, whatever-it-is probably has fingernails."

"Won't you ever stop quoting _Juno_?" sighs Fred, "I thought we were more original than that!"

"Who doesn't quote _Juno_? I think you're a little behind the times, Fweddykins."

And a tickle war, or whatever you're deranged enough to imagine, ensues.

--Eight Months After That—

"Fred!" yells Ron, dashing down the stone hallway to wherever-Fred-is, "come quick!"

"What is it, Mr. Ginger Jr?"

"George is having the baby!"

"OMD, George is having a baby?"

Ron gives him a look.

"I was joking, you prat. Quick, take me to him!" Fred jumps up and, wielding a fake sword, swaggers forward. Ron rolls his eyes, grabs his brother's arm and drags him up to the Gryffindor tower, which for plot purposes is where George is having what we will for the moment call a baby.

"Georgey!"

"Fweddykins!"

Just then, George screams, "Ow-fuckety-ow!" and Fred screams, "STOP QUOTING _JUNO_," and then George has the baby.

"What's it look like, Fweddykins?"

"I dunno. You tell me, Georgy-poo."

"We'll look together then. On the count of three…" but before they look, they clasp hands, and the power of their love slingshots them across the time-space continuum.

3lovepower3lovepower3lovepower3lovepower3lovepower3lovepower3lovepo-

--about sixty years earlier—

"Where are we, Fred?"

"I dunno, George."

"I appear to be in a bed."

"Of course you do. You just gave birth. Where else would you be, in your fragile—Ow, that hurt!"

"What's that sign say?"

"I believe it reads, 'cruddy London orphanage, circa 1920.'"

"Oh. So I've just given birth in an orphanage?"

"No. You've just given birth and you're in an orphanage."

"Wot?"

"Wot?"

"Who's saying what?"

"What-who-what?"

"Well, I dunno, do I?"

There is a brief scuffle, but George wins, because Fred is afraid to hurt him in his fragile state.

"What's this?" George asks, holding up a squirmy thing that was in the bed with him. Fred gasps.

"What can it be? What does it mean? It's atrocious! It's obscene! Like a froggy ferny cabbage, the baby is unnaturally"—

"Green?" guesses George.

"Yeah," says Fred.

"Oh," says George.

They look at the thing. Yes, indeed, its skin is green.

Just then, a knock at the door. A ragged looking woman comes in. She is ungainly, thin, with ragged dirty blonde hair made even more manky by the downpour outside. Lightning flashes.

"Ooo, look, Georgey, it's Merope Guant, mother of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Tom!"

"Just looks like a normal baby to me, Fred Dahling."

"True…but this is supposed to be the night Voldemort is born…" they look at each other.

"Does this mean…?"

"Yes, Georgey! We are the fathers of the most evil person in the whole of lizardkind!"

"Bloody Hell. What should we do?"

"Kill it, you dipstick!"

"But I have harbored it inside my nonexistent womb for nine months, and am now being bludgered in the head by motherly affection!"

Fred sighs.

"Fine then," he says, "we'll switch it with Merope's baby."

"Okay," says George, "sounds good to me. As long as I know it's alive."

They switch the babies. Merope doesn't notice.

"Call him—Tom—Marvolo—Riddle," she gasps to the orphanage-lady, and dies.

"Let's get out of here," whispers Fred. George nods. They clasp hands.

3lovepower3lovepower3lovepower3lovepower3lovepower3lovepower3lovepo-

"All look!" yells Fred upon their return, "a healthy baby boy!" He holds up He-Who-Should-Have-Been-Tom.

"Woo!" says Harry.

"It's a Festivus miracle!" says Ron.

"Well, _I_ knew how it was going to turn out the entire time," says Hermione dignantly.

"Is 'dignantly' a word?" asks Parvati Patil.

"Bugger it all," says Angelina Johnson bitterly.

"I propose a toast!" calls Remus Lupin, blustering in happily, his cloak flapping in the wind.

"I seem to recognize this scene from somewhere," mutters Harry.

"So how does a _man _have a baby anyway?" mutters Angelina sullenly as Lupin pours the wine.

"Oh, that's easy," says Luna Lovegood, "you have to be part of the underground Were-Seahorse movement. They're part of the Rotfang Conspiracy." She cocks her head at George. "I guessed, you know," she tells him serenely, "it's all in the eyes."

"Er…" says George. Angelina sighs. Hermione looks at her.

"It's George with his sexy man-talk," Angelina explains.

"Ah," says Hermione, "I understand. Oh, the power of the ginger…"

Suddenly, Malfoy bursts in.

"How'd you get in the Gryffindor tower, you git?" Fred asks Malfoy viciously.

"AAAAAAH!" yells Malfoy.

"Yeah, srsly, wth r u doin in heer?" says Lavender.

"DUMBLEDORE!" yells Malfoy.

"Eh?" says Ron. Hermione gasps.

"Don't worry, 'Mione (gah!)," Angelina soothes, "I'm sure he didn't mean to pull that face."

"ASTRONOMY TOWER," yells Malfoy even louder, before collapsing into a spaz attack.

"Everybody to the Astronomy Tower," announces Harry, the Default Giver Of Commands And Announcer Of Things. Everyone follows him, of course, except for a rather drunk Lupin and a serene Luna.

"I wouldn't drink that if I were you," says Luna, "Father read that it's made from rotten fish."

Lupin pauses for a moment before draining the wine goblet anyway.

"Don't say I didn't warn you. Ah well, the Nargles probably made you do it anyway."

--Meanwhile, on the balcony of the Astronomy Tower, where we leave off wondering why Nargles are such a great scapegoat in order to observe a more serious scene—

Dumbledore has collapsed against the wall. Snape is pointing his wand at Dumbledore.

"Whoa," says Harry.

"Whoa," says Ron.

"Whoa," says Hermione.

"You stupid git!" yell Fred and George in unison.

"_Jiggery Pokery_!" yells Snape halfheartedly. Unfortunately for Snape, this is a real spell…

--the edge of a cliff somewhere—

Birds chirp. Snakes eat mice. Trees shed leaves.

All of these things are going on when, all of the sudden, Dumbledore falls off the cliff.

The snake has almost completely swallowed the mouse, but then it decides to let the thing free, for a lark.

It is the happiest mouse on the planet.

Three weeks later, it will be eaten by Crookshanks.

--Random abandoned manor house of your choosing—

"Gaaah!" says Volde-a-i-o-u-mort's high-pitched, whiny and evil voice, "that blunderer! He was supposed to…to…"

"Have Dumbledore killed, sir?" cowers Wormtail.

"Gaah! I'm going there myself!"

Vold(and-sometimes-y)mort Disapparates.

"So…" says Wormtail to Nagini, "It's just you and me now…"

--Back on the Astronomy Tower, LEAVING THOUGHTS OF WORMTAIL AND NAGINI BEHIND FOR GOOD AND ALL—

"Bloody Hell," says Ron.

I wonder how many scenes have started with that exact sentence, in the history of fanfiction. Probably nearly as many as "Once upon a time" or "OMG OMG edcullen is SEXIIII." Anyway.

"Well," Snape oozes, "I guess I'll just be going now."

"Not so fast," says our own Ickle Fweddykins, who is the hero yet again, oh he's such a bwave little hero…

"Hello, minions!" Voldy's voice attempts to boom from an ineffable location that is really right behind them.

"Ugh," mutters Hermione. Harry looks at her. "Well," she responds defensively, "on top of all this, the last thing we really need is to add Lord Tomthedork into the mix!"

"Hey Sev," says Moldemort, "I'mma kill you now, 'kay?" Voldy _Avada Kedavra_s Snape, who begins to die slowly. Hehe.

"Harry," croaks Snape, "this is for you. Let me look into your Dreamy-Eyes-Courtesy-of-Lily-of-the-Dreamy-Eyes-esq." Snape pulls a thin stream of silvery fluid out of his head, looks Harry in the eyes, and dies.

Hermione mutely hands Harry a flask in which to put the silvery substance.

"Hmm," says Ron, "I think I've seen that sentence somewhere before."

"Well," says Harry, "we'd better go up to Dumbledore's office and look at this in the Pensieve."

"No, I don't think we need to, Harry."

"Shut it, Ginger! Since when do you know anything?"

"Hey! I'm just a poor deprived ginger kid! And no, I really think we don't need a Pensieve. Look, there's a message in the bottle!"

"Well done, Ronald! You're right!"

"Well, golly gosh gee, 'Mione (gah!), thanks!"

The trio gather around the flask. The first message reads:

HARRY-I'M A WEREBAT. YOUR MOTHER WOULD HAVE WANTED ME TO TELL YOU.

"Wot?" says Harry. He shakes the flask.

HERMIONE-POTION 642 IS THE KEY.

"Wot?" says Hermione. Harry shakes the flask.

RON-HELLO, GINGER. I WILL HAUNT YOU IN YOUR SLEEP!

"Ahhh!," says Ron. Harry shakes the flask.

HE WHO IS BRAVE AND PURE OF HEART MAY FIND THE GRAIL AT THE CASTLE AAARGH, SUCKAAAAS!

The flask spontaneously combusts.

"Well," says Harry, "that was odd."

"Yeah," agree Ron and Hermione in unison.

"Sooo…" says SoulAQuart (that's 'Voldy,' for those who don't speake Insnane), trying his best to make small talk, "what's with the baby?" Lizard people aren't very good at making small talk, I'm sad to say.

"Oh yeah," says George, "that reminds me…"

"Voldemort," say the Twincest Boys in unison, "We are your fathers!"

"Wha?" dithers Lord Whatshisface.

"Yeah," says Fred, "we had a twincest baby and got slingshot back in time."

"Oh," says Vueladelmuerto, "that makes sense." Then he bursts into tears.

"d00d," says Lavender, "wth is up w/ this d00d yo?"

"I'm in severe emotional pain!" wails the lizard man.

"Oh," says Parvati, "Um…why?"

"Because no one could ever love a Twincest baby! I'll be all alone for the rest of my life! Not even Bellatrix Lestrange will want me now!"

"Actually," says Bellatrix, magically appearing, "That's arguable…"

"Gaaaaah!" wails Vole DuMort.

"Awwww!" says George. "Hey," he responds to Fred's look, "it's that motherly affection bludger, remember?"

"I'm going to jump into the Black Lake to end my misery!" whines Lord Scaredypants.

"Nooooo!" yells George as Voldy jumps off the balcony into the Black Lake.

--Meanwhile, in the Black Lake—

"Nooo! My love!" says the Giant Squid, catching Voldy with a tentacle.

"Hey gorgeous," says vOldyMort in Squid Speak.

"Ya know," replies the Squid, "I could totally dig a twincest baby/lizard man."

--Astronomy tower—

"Ya know," says Luna, who has just appeared, "it kinda smells like lemonade out here."

_A/N:…now who would delete THAT, I don't know. But maybe that's my ego talking. Hmm._

_Any suggestions for more nicknames for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Tom would be appreciated—as this chapter (and the ones after it) suggests, I'm running out!_


	11. Voldemort and Ginny

_(11) 'Ello, friends, chums, and various amiable acquaintances! Before we begin, I'd like to say thank you for your awesome reviews. I don't know what I did to deserve your trust, but my review page is like a frickin' Irresponsible Shippers' confessional—and I love it. Trust me, you're not alone…I have been known to secretly enjoy a very very well-written, not-too-explicit and very short irresponsible ship now and again. So don't stop leaving me those little tidbits! Anyway, time for (the third round of) chapter eleven of (almost) everybody's (okay, my) favorite fic! _

_Ah, eleven. That fateful number. The year of a witch or wizard's admission to Hogwarts! Maybe this fic will get a letter of acceptance (the third time around), since a very confused Dumbledore failed to mail mine five years ago…_

_Anyway, in honor of the number eleven, I have decided to turn this chapter into a big multi-character revue (but not of the musical sort)!_

_Thank you to all those who provided new names for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Tom. I will use all the ones I can remember._

_I now present to you the eleventh and not final (unless it gets deleted again) installment of this-'ere thingamabob…including the introduction of the SUB-PLOT!_

'Tom' + Ginny

Ship-Which-Must-Not-Be-Named

Soooo…Voldemort and Ginny, you say? Hahaha! That's very amusing. Really, you're being quite witty!

What's that you say? You're serious? Oh. And by 'witty' I of course meant 'dim-witted.'

I suppose you're going to tell me that your fic takes place in _Chamber of Secrets_, because nobody _really_ knows what was going on with 'Tom' and Ginny while she was possessed in that book? Newsflash: she was POSSESSED while she was possessed. Oh, sorry, did I just ruin the ending for you? Because you obviously haven't read the whole thing.

Let's just suspend our disbelief for a moment. Let's say that Ginny really WOULD turn to the Dark side because she fell in love with a seventh of Voldemort's soul. Let's say that Lord Snakey-Face IS a pedophile, and that that's OKAY, which seems to be the basis of most fans' Tom+Ginny fics. If we were really to take all this for granted…we could…wait, what was my point? Oh carp. Well then.

-author hastily retreats into the magic of storytelling-

_14 November 1999_

_Dearest Tommy Boy,_

_Today Harry looked at me. I think this must be a sign that he likes me. Don't you? I mean, he really looked at me like I was…there. It was amazing. I got all fluttery inside. He's so dreamy…._

_**What did you do?**_

_Looked away again, of course. Even if he does like me, I don't want him to know I feel the same way, do I?_

_**No, I suppose it would be foolish to show your feelings this early on.**_

_So you think I've been doing a good job of hiding them so far? Oh, I hope I have. _

_**Yes, I think you're hiding rather well. Actually, I've been hoping you're a good liar for some weeks now.**_

_Why's that, Tom-tom?_

_**You don't really like the Potter boy, do you?**_

_Yes, I do, Tom. I've certainly told you enough times…seriously, you're kidding, right? Or are you just TRYING to annoy me? Because I could cast this diary away at any time, you know. _

_**Oh, I'm sure you could. I just mean, I can think of much better people for you to like.**_

_…_

_**Me, for instance.**_

_…_

_Okay._

_**What?**_

_Okay, I'll like you._

_**What? Oh.**_

_**….**_

_**Wait—what do you mean, "I'll like you?"**_

_I mean, that's how it works, isn't it? You choose who you like._

_**Oh. Yes, I suppose that IS how it works. That's why I like you—you're so clever.**_

_Thanks, Tommy-Wommy. I gotta go now, Potions homework…_

_**I'll write the essay for you!**_

_Nah, I think Snape's noticed how much better my essays have gotten…I better go do this one myself._

_**Okay. Go write your essay.**_

_**…**_

_**Ginny?**_

_**Are you there?**_

_**I love you!**_

--Laters—

"Tom-baby? Are you there?" Ginny looked around the big dark stone room. "Tom?" she called again. "Listen, darling, I'm in a bit of a hurry here, if you could just show yourself already…"

"Hello, love," says He-Who-Has-Eight-Mini-Souls, appearing from behind—DUN DUN DUN—the big marble face-of-a-guy-with-a-beard statue in the Chamber of Secrets! That statue's only in the movie. Just sayin'. No need to write it into every fanfic ever (Sumptuous edition note: According to one reviewer, the statue IS in the book. But I don't believe them).

"My own one!" Ginny cries, running toward He-who-has-no-nose. She takes him in her arms. Every fanfictioneer reading this groans, pushes away their computer chair, and takes a sip of their caffeine-free diet Generic Soda before continuing.

"Hello, love," says Tom Sawyer II again, because, as the discerning reader has surely noticed, our little Tom the Enchanter has a leeeeettle bit of a tendency to repeat himself.

"Phew," says Ginny, going limp in his arms, "I'm tired."

"Do you want something to drink?" offers Tomora Pierce.

"Like what?" Ginny asks.

"How 'bout some lemonade?" Tom Bombadil II says, winking at our favorite li'l Weasley sister.

Oh. No. You. DI'N'T!

(This program will return shortly. Our male romantic lead has been torn to shreds by rabid fangirls, and must be replaced by a lesser actor at great expense and at the last minute.)

(Okay, we're live in five…four…three…two…)

"Eh," says Ginny, "I'm not really that thirsty. I can think of plenty of things I'd rather be doing, besides drinking lemonade."

"Like what?" asks Tomur the Lame.

"Oh, I dunno," says Ginny slyly, "we could make out for a while. See what happens." She winks. The entire modern world cringes at the OOC-ness of it. Then Micheal—er, Tom—wraps his SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD EIGHTH OF A SEVENTY-YEAR-OLD SOUL-arms around Ginny's ELEVEN-YEAR-OLD waist. The scene ends with a vague innuendo of a sentence as they lean in to kiss.

--Meanwhile, in the Gryffindor common roomSUBPLOT—

"Ronald Bilius Weasley," says Hermione, striding over to the chair in the corner, where Ron sits, doing his homework and eating some toast, "I've had enough." She slams her bag on the floor and lowers herself primly—but still irritably—into the chair next to him.

"'Nuff uff rut?" Ron asks through a mouthful of toast.

"Enough of your ridiculous attitude," Hermione answers. "You're lazy, crass, often rude, and generally unrefined."

"Bloody Hell, Hermione! Love you too."

"That's another thing. Your vocabulary is altogether too repetitive. This week, I challenge you not to say 'Bloody Hell' or 'Blimey' once. Find some creative swears, Ronald—you're a wizard! Surely your mind isn't that limited?"

"Blimey, Hermione, why're you in such a bad mood today?"

"I'm not. I've just decided that I'm not going to stand for this any more."

"Blimey, Hermione, I'm twelve years old. I don't say 'Blimey' that much!"

"Yeah, Ron, you kinda do," says Harry apologetically, looking up from his homework.

"Bloody Hell, Harry, when did you show up?"

"See, Ronald? You did it again! Please take this challenge?" Hermione tries her best to do puppy dog eyes while still looking dignified.

"What's in it for me?" asks Ron bluntly. Hermione goes up to him and whispers something in his ear. Ron turns beet red.

"Bloody—squid!" he chokes. Hermione smirks.

"So you'll take the challenge?" Ron just nods mutely. "You won't use any common swears, including but not limited to 'Blimey,' 'Bloody Hell,' 'bollocks,' and 'Merlin's pants'?"

"Merlin's—bezoar, yes!"

"Good." Hermione looks extremely satisfied.

"Well," says Ron, "I gotta go bang my head on the dormitory wall for agreeing to this one…see you guys later…" Ron wanders off, mumbling to himself: "Bloody…ichor? No, that's weird; nobody knows what ichor is…bloody…Voldemort? No, too potentially offensive…Bloody Wizengamot, this is hard!"

"Well," says Harry once Ron has retreated to his bed of pain, "what's the deal, Hermione? Why did you agree to the challenge?"

"To provide myself with some entertainment," says Hermione in her usual precocious preteen manner, "I just finished the last book I brought from home. I need something to do."

"What'd you whisper in his ear?"

"Ah…" Hermione turns beet red. Harry raises his eyebrows.

"Why does everyone call it 'beet red'?" Harry asks. "Beets are purple."

"Er," says Hermione decorously.

"So…do you actually plan to do what you whispered in his ear?" Harry asks.

"No! Of course not! Actually, I'm quite insulted that either of you would believe that of me. It's like a subplot from a bad fanfic." And with that, Hermione stalks off to her dormitory in a rather convincing fit of righteous indignation.

--back to the actual story—

Ginny lay on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets, wrapped in the arms of He-Who-Is-Just-A-Memory-So-Why-Did-That-Work-So-Well. Cuz that's not creepy or anything.

"Oh, Tommykins," she says, "I wish we could stay like this forever."

"I know, my love," he says. Fangirls shudder. "I, too, wish we could be together for eternity."

"Oh, I wish you wouldn't wish that," says Ginny. "Eternity's a dreadfully long time to be together."

"But you just said…" Ickle Tommykins is confoosed…awww…nawt.

"Oh, I know. Staying like _this _forever is quite different from staying _together_. The overall effect is one much pleasanter, wouldn't you say?"

"Hah?"

"Oh, Tom-Tom, you're so cute when you're confused! It's an expression rarely seen on you, for some reason…" she kisses him. Er. Lack. "I wish you'd wear it more often."

"Well," says He-Who-Is-Completely-In-Love-With-An-Eleven-Year-Old-Which-Is-A-Very-Foolish-Thing-To-Be, "If that's really what you want…"

--In the Gryffindor Boys' Dormitory (This DOES have relevance to the plot, promise)—

"Harry," says Hermione, who is sitting on the edge of his bed in the dormitory, "I've been meaning to talk to you. _Alone_," she adds, glaring pointedly at Neville, who is sitting on his bed, humming and reading an Herbology book.

"Oh," says Harry, "Right. Neville, Do you remember what Snape's essay assignment was?" Neville turns cherry red.

"No!" he says, suddenly frantic, "I'd better go find out." And with that, Neville runs out of the dormitory.

"You know," says Hermione, "Cherries aren't necessarily red."

"True," says Harry, "only maraschino cherries are really red."

"Yeah," Hermione agrees, "the author should've been more specific." Fine. Be that way. If you're going to talk about me, you won't talk at all.

A long, awkward silence ensues.

Finally, Harry breaks the silence. "Whoo," he says, "that was a long awkward silence."

"Yeah," says Hermione lamely. Then everything she wants to say spills out. "Look, Harry. You don't have…feelings for me, do you? Because I really really like Ron, and if there's any confusion, I just want to clear it up now." Harry gives her a look of surprise.

"Hermione," he says, "I love you as a friend, sometimes as a sister, and mostly as a goldfish…but never as a girlfriend. You don't have to worry."

"Oh," says Hermione, stunned. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Oh. That's odd."

"Why is that odd?" Harry is confused. How unusual.

"Well…I just thought…"

"Oh, did you?" Harry raises his eyebrows. Why has he been doing so much of that lately?

"Yeah. I mean…everybody said that…"

"Well, Hermione, everybody says that there's no voice in the drainpipes, and we both know that there is."

A long silence.

"Goldfish?" Hermione finally says.

Just then, Neville bursts back in.

"Hi guys," says Neville, "I got the assignment! It's eighteen inches of parchment on the properties of Hazelsnout, single spaced." He panted.

"That's great, Neville," says Harry distractedly.

Just then, Ginny bursts in.

"I have something to tell you. I'm tired of hiding—oh, hi, Harry. Where's Ron?" Ginny turns apple red.

"He's in the great hall getting toast," says Harry. "And that's better. Apples _are _properly red."

"No," says Hermione, always correcting, "they're green."

"Nah," Harry contradicts, "I'm pretty sure they're red."

"The good ones are green," Ginny interjects.

"True," say Harry and Hermione in unison.

"So, Ginny," Hermione begins, "What is it you wanted Ronald to—" but at that moment, Ron bursts in.

"Wurt'sh gurrin on guysh?" he wonders through a mouthful of toast.

"Actually," says Hermione, "Ginny was just about to tell us some big news. But she wanted to wait for you." Hermione cringes at her own grammar.

"Wurt—_what_ do you want to say, Ginny?" asks Ron, swallowing his toast.

"I…ah…erm…ah…that is to say, I…"

"It's alright, Ginny dear, just spit it out," says Hermione kindly.

"I'm…er…let me show you." She takes the diary out of her pocket.

_Will you come out now, Tom? I want you to meet some of my friends._

_**I don't know if that's such a good idea, dear.**_

_Whyever not? Don't be ridiculous—what are we going to do, keep our relashionship a secret?_

_**Well…yes.**_

_Why would we do that?_

_**Ginny…I have something to tell you.**_

_**…**_

_**I'm the Dark Lord.**_

_Yes?_

_**That's it.**_

_Well, I already knew that!_

_**You did?**_

_Of course, silly! Did you honestly think so little of me?_

_**No, of course not. I could never think little of you. I just thought I was doing such a great job of hiding it…**_

_Well, you weren't. And I don't care what your secret identity is, you need to come meet my friends._

_**I really don't think they'd take too kindly to you dating the Dark Lord, love.**_

Well, it's better than dating no one. I'm eleven years old, Tom. I need a public relashionship. What will people say?

_**That you're a fool for dating a sixteen-year-old minisoul of the future Dark Lord.**_

_Well, that's fine. As long as they're saying_ something.

"Erm…Ginny?" said Ron, "what're you doing?" Ginny looked up into the bewildered faces of her older brother and his friends.

"I'm just writing to Tom." _But he won't come out!_

Just then, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Tom appears next to her.

"Okay, you win," he mutters to Ginny.

"Tom!" Ginny squeals delightedly, hugging him briefly.

"What?" asks Harry, confused.

"What?" asks Hermione, incredulous.

"Wurt?" asks Ron, through a mouthful of toast.

"This is what I wanted to tell you…I'm dating the Dark Lord!" Ginny looks cheerfully from face to face.

"Oh," says Harry faintly.

"Oh," says Hermione sharply.

"BLOODY KENTUCKY!" screams Ron, "MUM IS GOING TO KILL YOU!"

"Er…" says Ginny, unable to deny the fact.

"W-w-w-wait," says Harry, doing a quadruple take, "YOU'RE the Dark Lord?" he points at He-Who-Has-Clearly-Had-One-Too-Many-Doses-of-Nip-and-Tuck.

"Erm…generally speaking, that would be the general term for…yes?" Hmm. Someone seems a little TOMorous. Hee hee.

"That was uncalled-for."

Sorry.

"Oh," says Harry to He-Whose-Rebirth-Give-the-Title-of-the-Song-"A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love"-a-New-Meaning, "can I just…kill you, then?"

"Naw, I reckon we should probably wait a bit for that," says He-Who-Mustn't-Die-Until-The-Last-Book-Because-That-Would-Defeat-The-Point-Of-The-Series.

"Oh, okay. In that case, all I have to say is, Ginny, I'm very hurt and disappointed."

"Oh, Harry—you are?"

"Yes. Very much so." Harry sniffs and turns his back on the scene.

"Oh, Harry, don't be so dreadful! It's you I've wanted all along!"

"It is?" asks T to the M to the Riddle, sounding hurt and confused.

"Sorry, Tom-Tom. I like you and all, and what we had was really great for a while, but I've already given my heart." Ginny walks across the room to stand next to Harry.

"But-but-I love you, Ginny!" someone's voice is getting squeaky…

"I love you too, Tom darling, but I'm only eleven—you can't expect me to go dedicating myself to someone heart and soul, can you?"

"I dunno," Harry interjects, "can you?"

"Well of course I will to YOU, Harry. But he can't expect me to. Honestly, Tom, didn't you read anything I wrote in that diary at all?"

"Of course I did! Every single word! But at the time, I just thought they were childhood ramblings! I-it was terrible of me, Ginny, but I was planning to use you…to…but then I fell in love with you, and I just couldn't!" Trom Rriddlre Jr is lookin' pretty desperate now.

"Well, that settles it," says Ginny. "I'm sorry, Tom, but I just can't date a boy who doesn't stick to his choices once he's made them."

"You mean you think I _should_ have used you in my dark soul-sucking ritual?"

"Yes, if that's what you'd originally decided. You just can't go back on your decisions like that. It's wishy-washy, and I cannot tolerate it."

"I will never go back on my love for you, Ginevra!"

"I'm afraid I've made my choice." Ginny takes Harry's hand.

"Hermione," says Ron, looking impossibly sappy, "do you really intend to do what you whispered in my ear?"

"I…ah…" Hermione turns pomegranate red.

There now, you can't argue with that one, can you?

"No, I suppose pomegranates are pretty consistently red. And…yes, Ronald, I do."

"Merlin's spatula, I never thought I'd see the day!" Ron hugs her awkwardly, because he is not the huggy type at this stage in his character development.

"Oh," says Harry, reluctantly letting go of Ginny's hand, "there's something I've got to do." He walks up to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-Because-The-Author-Can't-Think-Of-Anything-Good-To-Call-Him. "Can't we all just get along?" He holds out a hand for the Dark Lord to shake.

"I wish we could, Harry," says Lord Lemontorte, "but you are the Jerry to my Tom, the Road Runner to my Wile E. Coyote. If I stopped hunting for your blood, I wouldn't have much to do, now would I?" Lord Holdthefort looks sadly at Harry's proffered hand, but does not shake it.

"That's okay, Tom. I understand." Harry retreats back to his position at Ginny's side.

Neville walks in.

"What're you guys doing?" he asks, bewildered.

"Oh!" Exclaims Hermione. She quickly points her wand at Lord Rathershort. "Er…_Avada Kedavra_!"

Lord Purpleskort falls dead.

Neville stares in wonderment.

Harry and Ginny are making out.

"Holy shitbriskets," says Ron, "there goes the entire book series!"

What did you think? Like it? Hate it? Totally confused by it? Need me to set a "please-review" song to the tune of "The Ballad of Sweeney Todd?" Review!

And to all those out there offended by my story, and on the brink of deleting it: DON'T HATE, APPRECIATE!


	12. Draco and Ginny

_(14) As always, a few notes._

_First of all, I conventionally apologize for taking so long to update. Hey, this whole editing-crap-I've-already-written-but-got-deleted-by-some-stupid-idiot thing isn't as easy as it looks! Speaking of which, some of my original readers may notice that the old Mary Sue chapter is missing. This is for two reasons: 1. Because I have decided it needs some major renovation and 2. Because I'm having a hard time recovering the file. So that's to come later._

Once I actually say a fic with a summary as follows: "Harry/Hermione pairings, eventual Ron/Luna and Ginny/Neville." Just thought you'd all get a kick outta that.

_About the research for this one—the first fic I clicked on just happened to be superbly well-written that I felt myself drawn in, enveloped in its sickeningly saccharine cloud of imagery and proper punctuation. However, I quickly remembered myself and clicked on the next one, which turned out to be so hysterically funny…well, you'll see_.

Malfoy + Ginny

Gah! It's a DraGin! Run away!!!!!

Draco Malfoy. Ginny Weasley. I rest my case.

"Ginny, I'm breaking up with you."

"What? Why? Not cool!"

"I don't know. Fandom told me to."

"Whose fandom?"

"Guess."

"I'd rather not."

"Okay, then. Well, the point is, we cannot be together any longer. Fandom has a bigger story to write me out of."

"Oh, Harry, it's not fair!"

"I know, Ginny. But nobody ever said Ron was the only poor deprived ginger kid."

-

Ginny is in Random Place, being emo and broken because some heartless writer has just forced her to end her relationship with the love of her life. And that is when Draco Malfoy _shouldn't _step in.

"What's wrong, Weasley?" Malfoy drawls, coming round the Default Corner That Everyone In Fiction Comes Round. Oh, who could not love the contemptuous voice of that arrogant little swine? "Potter break up with you?"

"Go to hell, Malfoy," Ginny replies curtly.

"Oh." Malfoy's purportedly pretty features crinkle in an expression of concentration, which they are clearly not accustomed to. They soon brighten, however, and Malfoy once again wears a mask of oblivious assininity. "Well, apparently I'm all caring all of the sudden…is there anything I can do?"

Ginny looks up at Malfoy through swollen but resolved eyes. Canonistas start to wonder…

"Yes," she informs him, "there is."

--Two months later—

"Holy Seabiscuit, Madam Pomfrey, you have GOT to be kidding me!" Ginny looks like she's about to hurl—though what she is about to hurl and how many expensive medical tools it will break remains to be seen.

"I'm sorry, Ginny dear, but the random spell nobody knew existed never lies. You are most definitely pregnant. I'm surprised you didn't guess before this; you're being about as perceptive as Bella in _Breaking Dawn_… Shall I go fetch Harry for you, so you can tell him the news?" Madam Pomfrey looks at Ginny with a mixture of disapproval and motherly concern.

"Great Mugwump, no! Why in Merlin's name would you do that?"

"I…er…I…I suppose I just assumed…that…er…" Madam Pomfrey now looks astonished. "Are you telling me someone _other_ than Harry Potter is the father?"

"Yes. Harry and I broke up two months ago."

"Wow," Madam Pomfrey mutters, "no one saw that coming."

--Approximately ten minutes later—

"You wanted to see me, Ginny?" the drawl coming from behind her is clearly Malfoy's, though it is not his usual condescending enunciation; rather, it is more clipped, anxious, breathless—almost like Malfoy is a fangirl falling in OMG LUV for the first time.

"Yeah…er…I…er…that is to say, I er…I'm pregnant!" Ginny bursts into tears, because that is SO Ginny, right?

"Pregnant! Well, why are you telling me this? I assume Potter will want to know right away! Were you hoping I would go fetch him? Because if I did, I can't guarantee that he would come back in one piece…"

"Draco, quit your ramble-drawling. First of all, you couldn't take Harry Potter if your life depended on it, and you know this, because you'd be dead many times over if you could! And second of all, the baby isn't his."

"…" says Malfoy.

Ginny sighs. Draco always did have a thick skull. Maybe that's why he has permanent helmet head.

"Do I have to spell it out for you?"

"No, please don't—I'm terrible at spelling."

"I really hope you're being sarcastic, Draco, because the baby's yours and he _will _know the joys of the world's most delightfully bitter form of humor."

"Wha-da-HAH?"

"Oy vey," Ginny mutters.

--Several long moments later—

"So…" Malfoy finally starts, "What're we gonna do?"

Ginny sighs. "You know, sometimes it's frustrating always being the one who takes the initiative in a relationship. With Harry, it was easy…he just sorta randomly kisses me in the middle of a party, then we're dating. Really romantic, ya know? But with you, I have to do all the work. I guess it's just cuz you don't _do_ work. Worthless wishy-washy wealthy weasel." Malfoy cringes, remembering the ferret incident.

"Erm," says Malfoy, "So…now's a good time for you to come around and inexplicably fall in OMG LUV with me, so we can raise the baby together. The author demands it."

"OMG DRACO I TOTALLY LUV U!" replies Ginny. "Still…I'm thinkin' that maybe having a random lemon with you was probably a bad idea…"

"Nonsense," Draco contradicts, "it was a really ripe one!"

"Bitter," sighs Ginny, "like my now-conflicted heart. Oh, Draco my OMG LUV, what are we going to do? We're like the Romeo and Juliet of the Wizarding world, except that Paris doesn't love me any more, Rosaline exists only as a self-insert Mary Sue, and if you drink poison I'll just feed you an antidote instead of stabbing myself in the fetus!"

"And we talk like normal people," Malfoy adds, "don't forget that."

"Right."

--A week later, in the Great Hall—

Draco stands next to Ginny behind where the Trio & co are sitting at the Gryffindor table.

"So…" Draco starts, "Potter, Mudblood, Weasley…we have something to tell you."

The Trio look at Ginny like she's an alien from Planet of the Weasels. No, guys, that's just what her _baby_ is going to look like. I hear vermin is a dominant gene.

"Umm," Ginny stalls, "Um, that is to say, er, I, erm…"

"Ginny's having a baby, and it's mine. So there, Potter—you may have dated her first, but who does she go to for rebound?" Malfoy unnecessarily points to himself.

The trio stare for a moment, slack-jawed. Hermione's girl instincts make her the first to recover.

"Oh, Ginny, you're having a baby? How sweet! Do you mind my asking—is it a boy or a girl?" she coos, getting up to hide her chagrin by fussing over Ginny's abdominal-type area.

"Boy," Ginny replies.

"I think we should name him Scorpius," says Draco importantly.

"Over your dead body," says Ginny flatly.

"Harry?" Ron chokes, "Relay this for me?" Sweet Ginger makes some sort of weird sign with his hands.

"That means you are no longer talking," Harry informs Ginny.

"Whoa, girl," Seamus cuts in, "You just got dis-OWNED! Oh yeah! Holla at yo boy!" Seamus holds out his hand for a high-five. No one gives it to him. "Whateva, people," he complains, "I know my shidd betta than all y'all, dig? Peace—I'm out." He exits the room in a way that no Irish white boy should ever walk.

"Hey," says Dean, "Da Shizzle ma Fizzle-gan's got it straight up." Hermione rolls her eyes.

"Dean," she groans, "not you, too? I thought that was Muggle stuff…"

"Whateva," Dean pshaws, adding "bitchez don' know how ta ac'" under his breath before following Seamus out of the Great Hall.

"Ginny," says Malfoy to his partner, "we really must speak about this. You cannot continue to have these friends…I'm sure they're a bad influence on little Scorpius…"

"Draco," Ginny sighs, "I love you truly, madly, and inexplicably, but we are _not_ naming the poor child Scorpius. We're just not. Just…no."

Malfoy looks baffled. "I think it's a lovely name."

"_Your_ name is Draco," Ginny points out.

--Later—

Ginny and Malfoy are alone together for the required romance scene. The author closes her eyes, deals with the inner demons that haunt her for actually writing this material, and proceeds.

"…" says Ginny.

"…" says Malfoy.

"Oh, who are we kidding?" Ginny replies. "We both know we only want each other for the sex. After all, you're a moronic arsicle and I'm a Gryffindor, not to mention we are both _purportedly_ good-looking…our true, mad and inexplicable love was never meant to be."

"True," Malfoy agrees.

Ginny picks up a bottle of lemon-scented wood polish. This is where the author hastily cuts out, hitting herself on the brain for even thinking of that.

--Approximately seven months later—

"Ginny's having a baby!"

"Ginny's giving birth!"

"Didja hear? Weasley's having a baby?"

"Wait—Weasley's having an mpreg?"

"No, you moron, I mean the girl!"

"Oh…but I thought she and Potter broke up?"

"They did! Nine months ago!"

"Oh. Wow. No one saw that coming."

-

"How's it coming, Poppy?" Malfoy asks the nurse, pausing in his anxious pacing.

"That's Madam Pomfrey to you, Mr. Not-Potter." She _hmph_s and turns back to the task at hand.

We'll skip several paragraphs of angsty, OMG IM SO DEEPZ LOL writing here and just say Ginny has the baby. Madam Pomfrey holds it for a moment and then purses her lips.

"…Oh my," she mutters.

"What is it?" Malfoy and Hermione ask in unison.

"I asked first, Mudblood," Malfoy snarls.

"Actually, I believe it was me, Wealthiest Wizarding Weasel ever to be a Witless Wishy-Washy Wanker."

With a smirk, Madam Pomfrey turns toward Hermione. "It's the hair," she informs her in a stage whisper, pointing to the baby that is now hidden from Malfoy.

"…Oh my," Hermione agrees, turning pale.

Ron peeks around to get a look, then jumps back, stumbles, and has to jump again to keep his balance.

"By the beard of Dumbledore!" he shouts.

"Oh, for the love of Salazar, what in the name of Merlin's creepy half-brother is going ON here?" Malfoy shouts louder.

Madam Pomfrey turns toward him, exposing the baby to his view.

Malfoy faints.

The baby has black hair.

Harry enters the room. Ginny turns toward him.

"Harry! Oh, Harry, my love! The baby's yours!"

"What?" Harry sputters, "How is that even possible?"

"Isn't it obvious?" asks Luna, coming into the room.

"Uh…no," Ron informs her.

"Harry, Ginny," Luna turns toward them, "It was the power of your love that conceived the baby. The idea of a slimy Slytherin princeling growing inside you was too revolting for it to allow—so it simply did some switching."

Hermione whistles. "No one saw that coming…"

"I did," Madam Pomfrey informs her smugly.

"Yeah," Seamus shouts, entering the room, "that was some PWNAGE!" He holds out his hand to Madam Pomfrey, and she actually gives him a high-five. Ginny stares disbelievingly.

"Girl," Seamus calls to her, "Whatchoo starin' at? You think you can get some o' this?" Ginny shudders, then turns to Harry.

"So," she says, "What do you think? Is this okay?"

"Ginny," Harry replies, "this is perfect! It just proves that Fandom can't stop true love—it can only postpone it a while!" He leans down and kisses Ginny. Everyone but Malfoy (who is still unconscious on the floor) cheers.

"Here you go," Madam Pomfrey says proudly, bestowing the baby on Harry.

"I think we should name it James," Ginny informs him.

At this point, Malfoy wakes up. "…'s the…baby and…blackhair…POTTER!" he roars, jumping to his feet.

Blaise Zabini, who has just appeared out of nowhere, puts his hand on Malfoy's shoulder.

"Not now, Draco. We shall have our revenge."

"Howzzat?" Malfoy asks faintly.

"The sequel," Blaise replies, "will be Draco/Ginny/Blaise."

……………………………………………………………………………………………

_Sooo…there were multiple entries to my "define 'histrionics'" contest the first time. Each applicant was fantastic in their own way; Kako, Lokima ("histrionic people are emo for attention"), melissaeverlasting, ElleGray (made some excellent references to Emma Watson), and PrincessOfNargles are all highly recommended by yours truly._

_However, Alex the Anachronistic took the cake:_

"_Histronic:_

_adj., reminiscent of a moonlight 'lecture' by Binns in the astronomy tower, capitalization is a must because this situation is so enormously scarce that it possibly means the End Of The Universe, which is most definitely important enough to be capitalized._

_Similar to histronomy: noun., the study of how, what, where, when, and why Binns would be in the astronomy tower. Ent.: derrived from 'history' and 'astronomy', which words were fused in ancient 21st century fanfiction textbooks originating from under the bed of Alex the Anachronistic, unearthed in 2179 from all the rubbish surviving from there. These books were fossilized by sediment from rotten banana peels and stuck-together leaflets from an obscure charity._

_See also: desc. Binns/Sinistra fanfiction."_

_Incorrect, but funny as hell. She gets a cookie. I'll even write "Snarmione" on it, just for her._

_Last time around…PhantomoftheBasket totally PWND…_

_Histrionic: Hooked on Phonics for history? Either that or you totally screwed with our heads pretending its an actual word, when, in fact, 'tis not, you just accidently typed "histrionic" instead of "history class", "history", "historic", or "let's totally go back in time to screw with the person who even invented the first ever Mary-Sue so we can make sure he dies a horrible and painful death BEFORE creating said Mary-Sue."_

_This time, I decided to stop the contest, because clearly these two definitions cannot be beaten._

_reviewreviewreviewreviewBYEreviewreviewreviewreview_


	13. Harry and Snape

_(12)Oh Geez. I, um. I forgot to post this one in its proper place. So here it is._

_Greetings, Muggles and magic folk alike! It is with pride that I now present to you the twelfth installment of _Harry Potter and the Irresponsible Shippers_, for this one is a feat of satire and disturbingamation. My goal in this one is to have you laughing and crying at the same time, due to two different emotions, but for the same reason. Which makes sense to ME, so don't argue!_

_First, though, a few notes, I think, would be in order, eh? I th,nk I,ve got, the com,a v,rus,_

_I'd like my reviewers for their wonderful response to all previous. However, it should be noted that the vastly popular "mostly as a goldfish" joke was spontaneously created by the ineffable oO-Alice-Cullen-Oo, and I cannot claim credit for it. _

_A note on some of the requests I got (the first time around)…most were reasonable. Really they were. But I seem to have gotten several requests for a Ron + Hermione chapter…must I really remind you guys? RON + HERMIONE IS CANON! And I thought you guys were fans…*pouts* Anyway, I only do non-canon ships here…which means I might, at some point, be forced to do a Neville/Luna chappie, even though that's one of my favorite ships…but irregardless, I am NOT going to be doing a Ron/Hermione anytime this century in this bit of fanfiction._

_Okay. So. To the new chapter, which deals with some of the most widely-requested material I have to offer…_

Snape + Harry

Snarry. The nickname is not the only unfortunate thing about this ship…

Humans underestimate the power of words on a daily basis. We don't always understand how or why three little words can affect us so deeply. The words "I love you" can fill us with warmth and happiness. Correspondingly, the words "Harry slash Snape" can make us gag and turn away our from computers, can make our skin feel like millions of tiny cockroaches are having a techno rave underneath it, can make our eyes roll and our nostrils flare in a very equine interpretation of digust.

I give you fair warning: When confronted with this ship, run faster than Severus Snape confronted with shampoo.

-

Severus snape looks suspiciously around the office, where the love of his life had not yet appeared.

"Oh my," says a voice from the left, "that grammar was atrocious." A boy with green eyes and a lightning scar named Harry Potter appears in the doorway.

"Hello, Harry," Snape greets the scar.

"No, Sev, it's me," says the Boy-Who-Lived-But-Won't-Much-Longer-If-He-Continues-To-Use-That-Nickname-For-Snape,-But-Will-Hereby-Be-Known-As-Harry. (I mean, Harry will be known as Harry. Snape won't. Oh, am I rambling again…?)

"Oh," says Snape in his nasally and highly unattractive voice, "my apologies, love." THIS IS WHERE THE AUTHOR TAKES A MOMENT TO BANG HER HEAD AGAINST THE WALL. "The author--" Snape glares at the aforementioned disembodied narrative voice—"used a misplaced modifier. It had me confused."

"Oh, yeah. I understand. Those fanfiction authors can have some pretty horrendous grammar. Still, I'm not one to complain—we have the incoherent to thank for _this_." He strides into the grimy office, catches Snape around the waste (PUN IS STILL INTENDED), and kisses him, letting a sigh escape his lips. Fandom wonders why Harry is acting like a 'girl' (AUTHOR SUPRESSES FEMINIST RANT); the cockroaches under our skins are now tap-dancing.

"Now, _Potter_," oozes Snape, unable to keep that slimily arrogant smirk off his face, "shall we get to the task at hand? We wouldn't want to waste this _Occlumency_ lesson, now would we?" Harry smirks back. The author's keyboard protests at the utter _wrong_ness of it all.

"No, you're absolutely right, _Professor_," Harry responds, not relinquishing his grip on Snape's waist. "This is quite the…opportunity…" More kisses. Don't know how Harry can stand all that grease. Must be bad writing.

"Right then. We'll get right to it." Snape strides over to his desk, and turns his back to Harry, appearing to be doing something.

"Wow," says Harry appreciatively, "that is some subtle bad grammar."

Well, I'd say I try, but I don't. But I did in this case. But the subtlety is natural.

Anyway, Snape fusses with something out of Harry's line of sight for a moment. Then he turns around, letting his robe drop to the ground. He has made the odd choice of wearing a skintight black turtleneck over black spandex booty shorts and Frank-N-Furter-like black garters. Let your imagination fill in the rest. Or don't, that's probably better for your mental health…

Harry drops his robes, too. He is wearing a yellow leotard.

"I'm wearing a wot?" Harry asks.

A yellow leotard.

"Am not."

Are too.

Snape doesn't notice this exchange.

"Well, Potter," he oozes, "I have to say I disapprove of your clothing choice. That yellow clashes terribly with your Dreamy Eyes (courtesy of Lily-of-the-Dreamy-Eyes, esq.)."

"Nonsense," Harry contradicts, "yellow goes with everything. It's the color of lemons!"

Author will skip part of this scene in order to keep her readers from going the way of Frank and Alice Longbottom…

-skips to exposition-

…and then Dumbledore walks in.

"What's this?"

"What's wot?" Harry asks cleverly.

"What is the meaning of this?" Dumbledore's eyes are flashing in and out of twinkle mode, because they're not really sure what to do in the current situation.

"Headmaster," drones Snape, "if you really can't assess the meaning of this, maybe what they're saying is true, and you really are going batty."

"Nonsense, Severus. If I recall correctly, you're a werebat?" Dumbledore lowers his half-moon spectacles and pierces Snape with his _astute periwinkle gaze_.

"Oh…ah…that…" Snape looks sheepish, or at least as sheepish as it is possible for the Wizarding world's greasiest werebat to look (I say _Wizarding_ world because there is this one muggle…oh, but trust me, you don't want to know about him…).

"Sev," says Harry, who I will smite with my supreme author powers if he keeps using that nickname, "you're a werebat?"

"I…ah…"

"Well," Dumbledore interrupts cleverly at just the right moment, "I was just on the way to let you know that Mr. Weasley—the elder—has been attacked by a giant poisonous snake. You would already know this, Harry, but since you suggested we start these Occlumency lessons on Professor Snape's recommendation…anyway, I was going up to your dorm from Dungeon 3, but I stopped in here because I thought I smelled lemon drops…" Dumbledore gives them both one more penetrating glance. "Well, I'll be off then. Harry, when you're…er…ready to see us, we'll all be in my office waiting for you. I'll tell Franson to let you in."

"Er…Franson, sir?"

"Yes, that's the name of the gargoyle who guards my office door."

See, Harry? I told you. This is the kind of crap stuff fanfiction writers come up with. It's NOT MY FAULT!

"I suppose you're right," Harry agrees as Dumbledore heads out the door.

"Yes," Dumbledore responds without turning around, "I always am."

And then Harry and Snape are alone again.

"Well then," says Snape, "shall we get back to the task at hand?" Harry cringes apologetically (and not out of disgust, as he should!).

"Well, it's, erm…it's Mr. Weasley, Sev, he's my best friend's dad…"

"I thought you and Ron didn't hang out that much any more?"

"Well, it's true that that's the cliché…that I don't spend time with Ron now that I'm no longer lusting after his feisty flame-haired femme fatale of a fair…er…sister, but even though that's true, it's just the insnane author's fault, and, Sev…we really are still close."

"I just…I don't like it, Harry."

"Wow, Sev (rip…tear…kill)…are you…jealous?"

"NO! Alright, that's it, no more Mr. Nice Snape! I just want you to know that you'll face much worse than Mr. Weasley's injury this year! You'll have a big blowout battle in the Department of Mysteries, and then your godfather will die, and then…the…the prophecy, the terrible prophecy…" Snape collapses in his straight-backed wooden desk chair, sobbing. Those tears are probably the cleanest water his face has seen for months.

"Wow, Sev," Harry whispers, in awe, "You amaze me! How do you know all that stuff?"

"I…er…might have a bit of prophet in me." Snape is now starting to become a weresheepbat. Because that's what a werebat gets when they try to look sheepish.

"A bit?"

"As in…I might be an almost-direct descendent of Cassandra Trelawney."

"W-w-wait…Trelawney?" the dawning comprehension is evident on Harry's face. Dawning comprehension and a yellow leotard…not sure if that's a good look for you, oh Harry dear.

Oy vey. Did I just call Harry 'dear'?

Oops. It's a good thing I have no desire whatsoever to become a Mary Sue. Speaking of Mary Sues…oh, nah, that's another chapter.

"Yes, Harry. Trelawney."

"W-w-wait. So that means…"

"Yes, Harry. Sybill and I are second cousins."

Just then, professor Trelawney stumbles in, singing a loud, out-of-tune rendition of "Odo the Hero" and smelling more strongly than usual of cooking sherry. Her beads jingle and jangle, and her buglike eyes are bloodshot. One of her richly embroidered shawls trails behind her languidly.

"Ah, cousin Sybill!" Snape greets with unusual cheer.

"Severus, my kin," Trelawney greets severely. "The sun is in the eastern triquaterly tonight. I fear dark things loom on the horizon."

"Ah, Sybill, I fear this is only too true." Snape edges around the desk and puts his arm around Trelawney's shoulders. Harry eyes them jealousy. Lemme repeat that. Harry Potter is eyeing Severus Snape and Sybill Trelawney _jealously_. Just thought that deserved reiteration.

"Shall we sing to take our minds off these sad times?" Trelawney suggests.

"An excellent idea, cousin." And with that they launch into another rousing rendition of "Odo the Hero."

Just then, Hagrid appears at the doorway (he can't actually fit into the room).

"'Ello, Harry, Professor Trelawney, Professor Snape! I thought I 'eard 'Odo the Hero'!" Harry looks at him.

"You heard it from all the way out on the grounds?"

"Ah, Harry…one never misses a rousing rendition of their favorite ballad! I wouldn't for the world!" Hagrid joins in on the singing.

Harry sits in the desk chair, head in his hands. He sees a pickled mongoose eyeball floating in a jar of slimy green stuff.

"You know what?" he says to the eyeball. "Sometimes I think it would be better just to get eaten by a giant marshmallow and get it all overwith."

_Well, there ya go. I'm rather proud of Hagrid for making such a fine entrance into the story. For those of you who don't remember, "Odo the Hero" was the song Hagrid and Slughorn sang when Harry got them drunk in HBP. Anyway, next chapter is going to be a special surprise…but please, for the love of Fawkes, review and request! I need ideas, people! I'm not made of them!_

_Okay, so I am, but…_

_Oh! And remember…_

_When the sun shines in rainy weather_

_You'll know that I am together_

_With a full inbox of reviews_

_Only one that can make it happen is yous_

_Now it's time for you to scroll down_

_Click the button that'll take you to review town _

Or else be cursed by Hagrid's pink umbrella

_Ella_

_Ella_

'_ey_

'_ey_

'_ey_

_WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? REVIEW! CONSTANT VIGILANCE!_


	14. Bellatrix and Lucius

(15) So, I originally came up with this idea in the bathtub (Blame it on the lilac candles) and HAD to write it. **HAD** to.

I, erm, didn't exactly do…er…copious research on this'un, because I once read one of these ships and it, erm, left an…impression…so I figured that would be enough to be going on with. So, to be going on with it…

Bellatrix + Lucius

'Lucytrix' has a nice ring to it…

Let me repeat that. Bel-la-trix-Le-strange and Lu-ci-us-Mal-foy. If you don't agree that this ship ain't sailin', I don't know what to do with you. I just don't know.

-

Bellatrix Lestrange strides purposefully across the grounds, toward the threshold of Malfoy Manor. She has a haughty expression, a book clutched under one arm, and a pure white peacock sniffing at the hem of her swirly dark skirts.

"Piss off, Ringo," she snaps at the inquisitive bird, which continues its sniffing. She kicks it in the head; it stumbles back, stunned, wobbles a little, and then teeters forward to sniff a different bit of hem. Finally, pursued by the insistent fowl, Bellatrix reaches the door and bangs loudly on it.

"Oh! Mistress Bellatrix! What a…delight…" Dobby greets upon opening the door, bowing so low his nose continually touches a noticeably well-worn, nose-sized spot on the doorstep.

"Bloody peacocks are at it again," Bellatrix grumbles, ignoring the house elf's sycophantic greeting.

"Bellatrix," Lucius greets, appearing in the doorway, "What a…delight…Fab Four been troubling you again? Well, I'll see to that. Dobby!" he snaps. Dobby ceases his bowing and stands at (non-insolent) attention. "Fetch Paul and Ringo and put them in the pen with John and George! And no more of that bowing nonsense, or I'll slice off your nose!"

"Yes, master," Dobby agrees smoothly, bowing low. Lucius snaps down the hall, Bellatrix following, leaving Dobby alone. The latter absentmindedly strokes Ringo and feeds him a peacock treat from some random pocket in his pillowcase.

"Good peacock," he mutters, "Dobby thinks you should run free for the afternoon." And with that, Dobby leaves the bird alone so he can find a cactus to jam into his forehead.

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

"Bellatrix."

"Narcissa."

The two sisters stand on opposite ends of the parlor, dignifying, posturing and generally trying to out-haught each other.

"Ahem," says Lucius tactfully.

"Lucius," Bellatrix commands, "Leave us."

"Yesma'am," he squeaks, hurriedly retreating to the kitchen, his boots tapping as he goes.

"Cissy!" Bellatrix greets her sister warmly, as soon as he is out of earshot.

"Bella!" Narcissa quickly closes the distance between them and takes her sister up in a tight hug.

"I brought you something," Bellatrix informs Narcissa gleefully.

"Did you?"

In answer, Bellatrix reveals to Narcissa the book she is carrying, whose cover bears the legend:

He's Just Not That Into Voldemort: How To Reaffirm Your Husband's Faith In the Dark Lord 

By Comida Delmuerto

"It's just what Lucius needs," Bellatrix enthuses. "Look, I've even marked passages for you…"

"Oh, Bella," Narcissa fakes unconvincingly, "It's great, you shouldn't have…"

"Don't mention it," Bellatrix replies.

"Well," Narcissa starts, "I was just about to leave, actually. My Dark Sewing Circle is learning how to knit Muggle-torturing devices, isn't that great?"

"Now that you mention it," Bellatrix replies with interest, "How _do_ you knit"—but Narcissa cuts her off.

"I'm sure Lucius will host you for tea, if you'd like to stay. Dobby!"

"Yes, Mistress Narcissa?" Dobby asks breathlessly, appearing from thin air with a forehead full of cactus needles.

"Start tea for Bellatrix and Lucius. I'm going out."

"Does Mistress need Muffin-Cakes to join her at the kitte"—but Narcissa cuts him off with a slap.

"I don't know what you're talking about, filthy creature. Honestly, Bella, I don't know what I'll do if our house-elf goes mad. Who would Lucius take his pent-up rage out on then?" she laughs a thin, high-pitched laugh and stalks out of the room.

"Elf," Bellatrix calls to Dobby before he can depart, "What is Muffin-Cakes?"

"Ah…er…um…Dobby is forbidden to tell, Mistress Bellatrix. Dobby cannot." Dobby cannot because I promised Narcissa that nowhere in this narrative would I mention Muffin-Cakes the Russian Blue (if you don't know what a Russian Blue is, look it up), his sister Cuddlebuns, or the Kitten-Hugging Convention, and I, as narrator, stay true to my sacred duty not to reveal the characters' secrets.

"Cruc"—Bellatrix begins, but Dobby cuts her off with a cry of,

"Mistress, please! Dobby already has 53 cactus needles in his forehead! Dobby would like to make you tea!"

"Fair point," Bellatrix agrees. Dobby dashes off to make tea, and Lucius enters.

"Why, hello, Bellatrix! Where'd Cissy"—

"Aha!" Bellatrix shouts, advancing on him, "at last you're here." Her voice turns husky. "I've been waiting a long time for this moment."

"Oh, Merlin," Lucius mutters, "Bella, please put your wand away!"

"I will oblige you, dear Lucius, because I have more"—she backs him into a corner—"pressing issues to attend to right now." If I were to mention how much it hurt my poor fingers to type that, would you understand? But, like any good narrator, I am a slave to the story…

"So," Lucius pants, "Just to be clear, there will be no unforgivable curses invOMMRMPHGARRAAaaaagh…" But he cannot finish, because Bellatrix is kissing him.

Later, Dobby the house-elf will attest to the fact that it was the loud cry of "Oh, Voldemort, Voldemort!" that brought him into the parlor at precisely the inopportune moment. He will also relate how he had to swear to silence on pain of "Dobby will iron his fingers—no, he will iron his nose and his fingers together so he can never use his hand again, if he tells, ma'am!"

………………………………………………………………………………………….

One night several weeks later, Lucius is in bed, Narcissa busy putting on her nightgown. He rolls over toward her nightstand to take a peek at what she's reading.

He does not glance at the title of the impressive black tome, but he does notice that the bookmark sits about three-quarters of the way in. He flips to the first page.

Contents

**Your Husband and the Dark Lord: Where They Are Now.**

**The Dark Lord Leaves His Mark.**

**Bringing Up the Dark Lord.**

**How To Help the Dark Lord Penetrate Your Husband's Mind.**

**Reintroducing the Dark Lord.**

**How the Dark Lord Can Blow Your Husband's Mind.**

**Where You Fit In.**

**Developing Their Relationship.**

**Eating Death.**

**The Bottom Line (Conclusion).**

"Oh my Lord Voldemort," Lucius mutters to himself, "this sound like a mix between a self-help book and a porno. This absolutely reeks of…"

"Lucy?" Narcissa inquires, walking toward their bed, "What have you got there?"

"_This_ is what you've been so interested in reading all this time?" Lucius asks her a little hoarsely.

"Erm…um…ah…that is to say, um…" Narcissa explains, perhaps waxing a bit lofty, but nonetheless accurately.

"That explains so much!" Lucius exclaims. "Like that time last week when we were at dinner, and you asked me where I was with the Dark Lord right now, and to be completely honest, because the open expression of feelings was basic to being a proper Death Eater?"

"Uh…the thing is…"

"Ha!" Lucius re-exclaims. "You were just trying to…er…what's it say? Ah yes, 'Help the Dark Lord to Penetrate my'"—

"Lucius, I can explain!"

"No need! I have it all figured out now! I bet Bellatrix was all part of this plan, as well!"

"Well, it's true she did give me the book…"

"Ah! And I suppose all of that…_romancing_ was just part of the ploy! I have to say, Narcissa, that was unusually low, even for a Death Eater…I'm so proud!"

"Romancing?" Narcissa asks sharply. The use of a word that nerve-grating in civilized conversation would have put her off anyway, but the fact that her husband is using it…in a conversation involving her sister…who has always been the _popular one_…

"Yes, you know, all of that…kissing…stuff…in the parlor…" he trails off, starting to suspect that she hadn't suspected.

"Tell me," Narcissa asks flatly, her face expressionless, "did it work?"

"Ah…er…well, it may have…had some slight effect…on the, er…more…"

"I see," replies Narcissa coolly. "I have to go. I'll be back in about an hour." She slowly and calmly puts her clothes back on, then heads downstairs to walk outside the house and Disapparate.

Did anybody ever wonder how Bellatrix's eyes got so heavily lidded?

It was Narcissa, in the hall, with a very heavy pewter cauldron.

_Well, there it is. Reviews are much appreciated AND expected, even from people who've already reviewed previous chapters. YES, you, you there with your mouse on the "return to top" button. Thought you could fool me, didn't you? Yes, well, just because this story is on your alerts doesn't mean you're off the hook. You have the right to review, anything you don't say can and will be used against you…I KNOW WHERE YOUR PM BUTTON LIVES!_


	15. Snape and Lily

_(16) It took me an enormously long time, originally, to write this chapter…it's just so disturbing!!! And then a friend of mine came up with a plot for me, and, well…you'll see._

_I do believe that was my shortest author's note ever! And no bitter comments about the deletion…._

Snape + Lily

Snily? Snilly? I get smiley because they're both so silly.

Umm…Severus L. Snape. Lily Evans Potter. Even coming from JKR, this was a bad idea…

-

Sixteen-year-old Severus Snape sits slumped against the cold stone wall, oozing in a great mound of molten misery. A clump of jet black emo hair greases sourly down his face, finally coming to rest over his right eye. He gathers up his greasy, robe-ed knees in his arms, looks down, and thinks thoughts of misery, pain, death, more pain, James Potter in pain, more misery, and more death.

It has been four months since that dreadful incident after the O.W.L.s. He is horrifically, horrendously depressed that Lily has not made a single attempt to visit him over the summer (her family moved to Cornwall, but that is no matter. It is still unforgivable. Yet forgivable. But not. But yes. But no. But yes but no but yes. Because it is Lily, and Snape is positively in the grips of emo throes of inner turmoil. Whatever that means. Which is to say, nothing). And it hasn't been any better since they returned to school. Which I'm sure you find surprising. Yet, we still need to have an overlong explanation of this at the beginning of the story. Because Snape is emo, and emo never uses a sentence where it can use a paragraph. Or, in some cases, an entire chapter.

Sighing a hopeless sigh full of emo-ness and longing (not to mention terrible breath), Snape greases up the Unidentified Probably-Not-Flying Wall (although this was Hogwarts, so you never know) and oozes dejectedly to his next class…where someone is waiting for him.

"OMGZ u baftard u didn't show up diner laft nite wtf!" scolds his half-vampire Slytherin Mary Sue girlfriend, Alas Obsidian Deliriu'm Crow.

"Alas," oozes Snape, "we have to talk."

"Yeh, wel mehbee I dont want 2 tok to u!" Alas, she scolds.

"Alas, I don't think our relationship is going so well," Snape emotes.

"How cn u fay that!" cries Alas.

"Alas, that black leather corset minidress looks great on you," Snape attempts pitifully.

"Don't change the fubject! You hav fomething to fay, or my name ifn't Alaf!"

"Okay, okay!" Snape greases, "Alas, I'm afraid we're going to have to break up."

"Fine," Oh, she's angry, Alas. "If that'f the way ur gonna b, I'm breaking up wif u!" And with that, she stomps off in her patent leather (black) platform boots.

"Oh dear," Snape oozes, "What will happen now?"

"Well," says Avery, coming up behind him, "If I know her, Alas, she will slit her wrists while listening to Good Charlotte, but won't die because she's half vampire."

-The author would like to take this moment to point out that this bears no resemblance to the infamous Mary Sue fic "My Immortal," and that any similarities to the aforementioned are in loving mockery, and are not attempts to infringe upon the author's 'creative' property.-

"Oh," greases Snape, "thanks."

Later, Lily is stalking down an ambiguous corridor, looking mad. As in angry mad, not mad mad. Because even though this is a Lily/Snape (shudder), Lily Potter (I mean Evans) is never completely insnane.

"Ooh, that James Potter, I could just kill him…" she mutters to herself.

"Lily?" comes an emo ooze from a shadowy corner. Lily jumps out of her hair.

"Whozzere?"

"It's me, Severus," Snape exudes.

"Oh," says Lily significantly, turning her back on the corner.

"I just want to talk," he says, dripping with patheticosity.

"Oh, Sev," says Lily.

"Oh, Lily," oozes Snape, stepping out from the shadows.

"You're getting better at lurking in the shadows unnoticed every day," she compliments.

"Thank you, Lily-flower! I learned it just for you!"

The author would like to take a moment here to…er…pray to the GSD she will be forgiven for writing this chapter.

"GSD?" Lily asks the ceiling with interest.

Global Standard Deity. It's a Thursday Next thing.

"Oookayyy…what is it you had to say, Sev?"

"I, that is to say…I…Lily, I…I mean, I kinda…" Lily is staring at him, trying to keep an amused expression at bay.

"I…er…I…Lily, I love you!"

"Yes," Lily agrees.

"What do you mean, 'yes'?" Snape snaps.

"I mean, I know. What of it?"

"Well…er…do you love me too?" Lily considers for a moment while the author goes off to bang her head against a wall in preparation for writing her answer.

"Of course I do, silly! I can't believe this took you six years!" Author refuses to comment on any sorrowfully slimy Snape snogging, so the next few minutes of narrative is censored.

"So," Snape oozes, "you're going to forget about that Potter pantaloon now, aren't you?"

"Er…yes, Sev, of course. You are my one true love!" Lily looks up at the ceiling in alarm. Author cringes apologetically.

"Oh, really?" Snape emotes hopefully. "I mean, you're not repulsed by my…er…" he waves his hand toward the general vicinity of his hair.

"Sev, you've got to get some self-confidence," Lily informs him. "You're almost as bad as Bella."

"Who?"

"Never mind."

Well, you know the story. Snape goes off to join the Death Eaters, Lily marries James. The only apparently different thing here is that we are apparently to assume that Snape apparently went out with Lily for a year. Apparently.

So…Snape betrays. Lily dies. Voldemort curses. Baby Harry gurgles. Which brings us, somehow, to…

--Several Years Later—

Snape and Harry are in an Occlumency lesson. I don't know where this setting came from, except that it's the only time Harry bothers to spend alone with the greasy goon—

"You know," Snape tells the ceiling, "You overuse that insult on me. I'd really prefer you came up with something more proper to call me."

Fair point. So the slimy scalliwag is in his office, yadda yadda.

"Harry," he says out of the fuscia, "I have something to tell you."

"Is it '_legillimens_'?" Harry asks wearily.

"No, it's"—but at that moment he is interrupted by Dumbledore dumbling the door.

Yes, "dumble" is a word. It is a verb. It means "to open." It's made-up, like most of the English language. Got a problem with that?

"Severus," Dumbledore dumbles, "There has been a slight change of plans."

Yes, "dumble" is a word. It is a verb. It means "to say." It's made-up, like most of the English language. Got a problem with that?

"What do you mean?" Snape greases, looking thoroughly dumbled. Yes, "dumbled" is a word. It is an adjective. It means "befoozled." Got a problem with that?

"_Butterscotch snouts_," intones Dumbledore meaningfully.

"Oh, good grapes, in the name of PANTS this is not a good time!" Snap snapes, pulling his wand out of his robe and pointing it at Dumbledore.

"_Ava—ava_—" he attempts.

"Severus, por favor…" says Dumbledore quietly.

"_Avada kedavra_?"

Dumbledore dies.

"You—you—you—Death Eater!" Harry accuses Snape, pulling out his wand and training it on the oozy ostrich.

"I'm not an ostrich, I'm a bat! And put that away, Potter, you don't know what you're doing!" Same difference. Either way, you can't fly.

"Oh, yes I do! I'm heroically avenging Dumbledore's death in my own personal idiom! _Expelliarmus_!" The spell misses, of course. Where would our beloved series be if Harry ever won before the eleventh hour? Hmm, eleventh hour, catchy title…for…something…anyway.

"_Stupefy_! Potter, you really don't want to be doing this…"

"Oh, I think I do! Murderer! _Cruc_"—

"Potter, NO!" Snape roars. Ooh, now the grease is really flying…

"You can't tell me what to do, " Harry informs him impetuously, "You're not my dad!"

"Yes I am!" Snape oozes.

"No you're not!"

"Yes I am!"

"Are not!"

"Am too!"

"Are not!"

"Am too!"

"Are not!"

"Am—oh, this is ridiculous! Potter, I am your father!" Snape oozes grandly.

"My father is dead!" Harry protests. "Your master killed him!"

"Well," Snape hedges, "Technically, yes, he _was_ your adoptive father. But biologically speaking…"

"Oh my garnet," says Harry, "Ew, ew, ew, ew…**EW**, stop talking! Okay, fine, you're my father, I get it…" Snape opens his mouth to speak when a middle-aged woman with dyed-black hair and a red corset bursts in.

"u baftard!" she cries.

"Alas?" Snape exudes, astonished.

"I waited for u for yearf and thif if how you repay me? _Crufio_!"

And she is smushed by a giant ham falling out of the sky. Remember the wizard who said "s" instead of "f" and ended up lying on the floor with a buffalo on his chest? Well, apparently it's slightly different the other way around…

"It's a ham!" Harry exclaims, eyes shining with amazement.

"Well," greases Snape, "Dumble me and call me a lemur…"

Yes, "dumble" is a word. It's a verb. It means whatever the deuce I want it to mean, in that precise order. Do not question Author!

Just then, Lily and James Potter float down from On High and land in their ghosty forms right in the middle of the scene.

"Mum!" Harry shouts, running toward Lily. Then he shouts "Dad!" and looks from James to Snape and back again for a moment before running toward the former.

"Lily-flower!" Snape oozes rejoicefully, "My love hath returnethed!"

"Wait a mo," says Harry, looking at his mother, "Do you mean to tell me that this git really is my father?"

"Well…" Lily starts.

"Him?" James asks. He shoots Lily a betrayed look before turning to Snape, glaring for a moment, and then bursting into a gale of laughter. "Well, Snivellus, I never thought you had it in you…"

Snape turns green with anger and advances on James, who is now doubled over with laughter.

"Sev," pleads Lily, grabbing the goon's shoulder, "don't…"

"You're still in love with him?" Snape implores, "after all we've been through together, thick and thin, up and down, side to side, diagonally and Diagon Alley?"

"Er…yes," Lily affirms.

"But Lily-flower, I love you! And he's _my_ son!"

"Frankly, my dear," says Lily, grabbing the hand of the still-giggling James and floating back toward the ceiling, "I don't give a ham."

_If reviews be the food of love, type on! Please! Not even my best friend reviewed the last chapter…sniff._

_Ron/Luna next? You can only request if you review._


	16. Ron and Luna

_Note on the republished edition: I believe I began work on this right before or right after the first deletion. Its publishing was delayed, of course, by the first republishing of this story. And now this is its first republishing. Enjoy. Up next—the FIRST PUBLISHING of what might be my craziest chapter yet._

_(17) Well, monsieurs and señoritas, here it is, the first NEW chapter since the publishing of the Sumptuous Edition (digitally remastered director's cut!). Thank you all for your (mostly) kind response to last chapter; and once and for all, would the mad MMAD shippers please stop attempting intelligent criticism of chapter four? Or don't. I do love a good laugh._

_This-'ere chappie is one that has been long in the making in my mind. It all comes from one fateful fic I stumbled upon long ago. You see, it was a dark and stormy…oh, never mind._

Ron/Luna

I am told they call this "Red Moon," but I'm going to give fanfictioneers the benefit of the doubt and say they don't.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a poor deprived ginger kid must be in want of some love. Now, one would assume that said ginger kid would go for a rational, sensible, intelligent girl who could perfectly complement his irresponsible nature. That would be the sensible course, sniff thank you very much. But, as proved again and again in fanfiction, poor deprived ginger kids aren't always the most sensible people. So…

-Some ambiguous summer, at the Burrow-

"Hey Ron!" shouts Ginny, "I'm randomly going to visit Luna Lovegood, because I'm bored! And even though there are perfectly good brooms in the shed, I'm going to walk! Wanna come with me?"

Ron, who is laying on the couch because it's convenient plot-wise, yawns, "Okay, why not? I'm bored too, and the fact that, of all the Trio and their friends, I'm the one who likes Luna the least, is absolutely no hindrance to our plan!"

"Hooray!" says Ginny.

They walk to Luna's. Her dad is out, for some unfathomable reason, so she, Ron and Ginny are alone.

"Hello there, Ginny, Ron. It's nice to see you. Would you like to come upstairs and see my room?" Ron and Ginny sort of look at each other, then follow Luna up.

The "friends" painting is half-completed—apparently Neville and Hermione have both been up to visit this summer. Readers take a deep "oh boy, here goes" breath at this unlikely development, while the writer beams at her cleverness for the tie-in.

"That's a beautiful painting," Ginny offers conventionally.

"Get…me…out…of…here," Ron whispers to his sister.

"I know it seems strange," says Luna, looking unblinkingly at Ron, "but it's a good way to remember. After a thousand or so pages, you won't mind so much. In fact, you may even think it's touching."

Ron's eyes widen. "How does she know these things?" he asks Ginny wonderingly.

"It's the power of Author," Ginny replies mystically.

"I'm just about ready to do another face," Luna informs them. "Ginny, would you like to stay?"

"I can't," Ginny says quite quickly, "Mum needs me to de-gnome the garden. Fred and George taught them the soundtrack of _Chicago_, and now they're doing stripteases to it all over the lawn. 'Conniption' is not a strong enough word for it."

"Alright, then. R"—

"I'll stay!" Ron interrupts her.

Luna smiles enigmatically. "Okay."

Luna sets to mixing paints, while Ron just sits on the bed, doing nothing. Author will never understand his motivation for this, but hey…this is fanfiction. Who needs motivation?

Finally, bored out of his ginger skull, Ron picks up the latest copy of _The Quibbler_ (the **sane** conspiracy theorist's digest!) from the bedside table.

"Your father publishes this, am I right?" Ron asks her.

"Yes," Luna agrees serenely as she paints a giant version of her friend's face on the ceiling, "and when he retires, it'll be my job, because this is fanfiction, and my author didn't bother to read my Mugglenet bio before writing this."

"Wow, that's neat," says Ron. "So, how do you pronounce his name, then? Zeen—Zen—Zen-oh…"

"I know it's spelled 'Xenophilius Lovegood,'" Luna assures him, "but it's pronounced 'Throatwarbler Mangrove.'"

"Oh. Of course." Ron flips through the magazine, but soon loses interest, leans back, and closes his eyes. When he opens them, Luna's face is about an inch from his.

"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! BLOODY HELL, YOU SCARED ME!"

"Sorry," says Luna, "I just wanted to get your nose right."

"OKAY, THAT'S FINE!"

"Why are you still talking like that, then?"

"I DON'T KNOW! MY AUTHOR IS KIND OF CAPS-LOCK-HAPPY!"

"Oh, I see." Luna's huge eyes are still fixed on Ron's face.

"Er, Luna?"

"Yes, Ronald?"

"Ah…never mind." Suddenly, being stared at by those big blue lemur-eyes, Ron is struck with OOC fever. He starts to go all dreamy, when Luna's voice interrupts him again.

"It's okay, Ron," says Luna. As soon as the confusion wears off and he figures out what she means, he kisses her.

Apparently Luna is telepathic now. And Ron, the aggressively normal ginger…do I need to get into the 'madness fetish' thing again?

"Oh, Ron!" says Luna after they're done, "I've been waiting all summer to see you again!"

"Oh, Luna!" says Ron, "I haven't! But now that we're together, I promise to love you forever, through thick and thin, through teasing and slander, and through the entire war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Appearing-In-This-Chapter-Which-Is-Why-He-Is-Using-This-Ridonkulously-Long-Name-To-Milk-His-Only-Mention!"

"Oh, Ron, I knew you would!"

They sit there being happy until the sound of a door opening awakens them from their Laaaaaaaahve World.

"That must be Dad! Come on, Ron, you can meet him!"

"Oookay," says Ron dreamily as Luna grabs his hand and pulls him downstairs.

"Hello, Luna!" Xenophilius greets his daughter as she appears at the bottom of the stairs (default).

"Hi, dad! Did you have a good day?"

"Oh, yes, my dear. I caught four Freshwater Plimpies for soup, and I believe I sighed a Tallahasseean Tortugle!"

"That's wonderful!" Luna enthuses. " 'Sighted' isn't a word! I have some good news, too. I had some visitors today. Dad, meet my boyfriend Ron."

"Hi, Mr. Xen—er, Throatwarbler," Ron greets, holding out his hand.

"Hello, Ron," Xenophilius greets, shaking it (the hand, I mean).

Xenophilius turns around to set his man-purse down. Then, all of the sudden, he stops. His temple begins to pulse, and he slowly turns back to Ron.

"Wait a moment. YOU'RE. DATING. MY. DAUGHTER."

"Er…yes?" Ron agrees.

"YOU MEAN TO TELL ME," Xenophilius yells, "THAT MY LITTLE LOON-BUG IS GOING OUT WITH A…WITH A…WITH A GINGER?"

"Oh no," Luna mutters, "this isn't good. There must be a Mutated Winchurchian Wrackspurt in the room."

"What do those do?" Ron gulps.

"They cause major personality changes," Luna informed him.

"Is there a cure?"

"Only a really good Bat-Bogey Hex can banish it," says Luna.

"Oh, Buggre thise alle for a larke! I don't know anybody who can do a really good Bat-Bogey Hex! We're completely doomed!" Ron laments.

At that moment, the door bursts open. "_Battus Bogeyus_," yells Ginny, pointing her wand in midair. There is a mysterious whooshing noise, causing Xenophilius to calm down (though his temple continues to twitch like a dying iDog), and Ron to snap out of his dreamy state.

"Well, that was strange," Luna states to nobody in particular.

"Ah, Luna," Ron begins, clearing his throat, "I know we've only been dating a few hours, but you see…the thing is…Well, I'm just a poor deprived ginger kid, and I never really wanted any of th"—

"Oh, I know, Ron," Luna agrees. "It was the wrackspurt all along."

"Oh," breathes Ron, relieved.

"Ron," says Ginny, "I brought you a letter from Hermione, and a broomstick to fly home."

"A letter from Hermione?" Ron starts twitching. "WHERE IS IT? WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME SOONER? HOW LONG IS IT? WAS IT _HER_ OWL THAT BROUGHT IT? DOES IT CONTAIN A THREE-PAGE-LONG ESSAY ON HER UNDYING LOVE FOR ME, WITH EXAMPLES IN HISTORICAL CONTEXT AND CORRECT GRAMMAR? WHY IS MY AUTHOR SO OBSESSED WITH CAPS LOCK?"

"Here it is," Ginny grumbles, pulling the letter out of her cloak pocket. "And you don't have to thank me. I know I'm made of awesome."

"And Iklestrum juice," Xenophilius interrupts.

"What?" Ginny asks bluntly.

"It's the mystical fluid that makes up half a wizard's body," Luna explains. "Dad is currently arranging a trip to Armenia to study"—

Author cuts off this story while it's ahead, as it's ranging dangerously toward the Land of the Sane.

A/N: I love Luna. And Lamp. Reviews are appreciated. Please don't favorite or alert without reviewing, or I SHALL KNOW! I has Magical Luna Telepathy, you see, and I know if you don't take the trouble to click a button and type a few words...nah, I lied, it's just the power of Author. So—you know what to do! Review, review, review! Also, I need requests more than Sarah Palin needs to learn proper grammar. Please send me some!


	17. Hermione and Gred

_Going through old reviews looking for requests the other day, I found a recurring request for a chapter I'd been meaning to write for a long time. Fueled with multitudes of ridonkulous ideas supplied by some major research, I march heavily armed out into the fray, my cavalry…where was I going with this?_

**Hermione + Ginger Twin**

…_because "Gingermione" is at least a valid combination of words (hem hem, "Harmony" shippers)_

It is currently 4:31 A.M. on the worst day of Hermione Granger's life.

No exaggeration this time. Hermione has seen some pretty bad days, from the day she was attacked by a troll to the day the first Harry/Hermione shipper was born. This day tops them all. This is the day her true love died.

She sits on the staircase just outside the Great Hall, trying to rid herself of the image of him, lying still, the echo of his last laugh etched (as we have been told many times) upon his face. Trying to keep from remembering…

FLASHBACKATTACK*FLASHBACKATTACK*FLASHBACKATTACK

Hermione is striding quickly down the hallway toward an out-of-service girls' bathroom, Ronald Bilius Weasley at her side. He holds in his hand a large, possessed golden cup; it takes all of his concentration to avoid being overpowered by the glossy utensil's evil. In fact, his absorption has caused him to squint his eyes and bare his teeth, so that he looks a little bit like an angry, elderly squirrel. Hermione amuses herself by imagining a ginger squirrel in his place, dancing a jig while…

An obnoxiously loud "_psst_!" stirs her from her musings.

"Hello?" Hermione whispers back to the disembodied voice, showing prodigious use of those brains.

"Hermione! Over here!" It is only then that Hermione recognizes the voice of her true love. Suddenly, she turns to her left.

"Ron?" she asks. The ginger jumps and squeaks,

"YOU YOUNG WHIPPERSNAPPERS GET THE BLOODY HELL OUT OF HERE! THIS IS MY TREE!"

"…Ron?"

"Hermione? Oh. Sorry. You just scared me, that's all. Did you want to say something?" Hermione sighs.

"I think I dropped my wand. Go on ahead while I find it—I'll catch up with you."

"Okay," says Ron the Clueless, glibly gingering his way down the hall. Hermione dashes toward the statue behind which her true love is hiding.

"Fred!" she exclaims in an uncannily breathless voice, flying into his arms and…(insert paragraph from _Gone With the Wind_ here).

"Hermione, my love!"

"Wow, my dearest, that was wonderful! A whole sentence without a single joke!"

"Well, Hermione, this is a bleak night, and there simply isn't room for humor. Just a minute ago, I was fighting alongside some of the Hogwarts statues. The Death Eaters had them crumbling into boulders, so I had to break away and roll out of there—Ow! What'd you slap me for?"

"That," said Hermione with satisfaction, "Was for the pun."

They stare at each other for a moment, burst out laughing, and then start kissing. While laughing. Don't ask me how that works. It's magic.

"Oh, Hermione, my love! I love you! I couldn't bear it if one of us died!"

"Nor could I, Fred my love! I think I would die if one of us died!"

"As would I! We must never be separated!" Fred whips a ring with an enormous diamond out of his pocket. "Marry me, my love?"

Hermione swoons as her brains melt from happiness (which will perhaps explain the outcome of the sordid affairs to follow). "Yes, my love!" She takes the ring and puts it on. The giant diamond explodes into a parade of tiny purple mice, which march down the hallway spitting fire.

"It was supposed to shoot fireworks," says Fred, chagrined, "but look!" He indicates Hermione's finger, which now holds a golden band bearing a large letter "W" in blindingly sparkly purple diamonds.

"Oh, Freddymylove! It's so classy!"

"That's not the best part," Fred informs her gleefully. "It has a magical homing beacon, so it sparkles extra when I'm near."

"Yay! Sparkly!"

FLASHBACKFORWARD*FLASHBACKFORWARD*FLASHBACKFORWARD

Hermione is now sitting at the Gryffindor table, staring glumly at the dull-as-dirt ring on her left hand and contemplating dyeing her hair black. Experiencing grief as only Fandom can make it, she is impervious to the pitiful cries of…emo things. _OMFG_, she thinks, _if fred had survived we would be mArRiEd in the morning!_

"Hermione," greets Ginny hoarsely. "How are you?"

"BLAH!" Hermione informs her.

"I'm sorry. What's wrong?"

"Oh, Ginny!" Hermione wails, bursting into tears, "it's Fred! He-he-proposed to me!"

"OMG no way tell me EVERYTHING!" squeals Ginny.

"Well," says Hermione, "There was the statue and the ginger squirrel then magic pun fire-breathing mice SUPER-RING loooove and then he died."

"Wow!" says Ginny, "That is SO romanti-tragic."

"I know, right?" says Hermione in a depressed voice. Just then, George comes winding up to them, his steps slurred and syncopated as if he is walking to the beat of Captain Jack Sparrow's theme.

"George, what's wrong?" asks Ginny with concern.

"Nuthinsrung," George assures her. "I jus'…'s fandommm. I could jus' see'em havinme turnnto a druuunk so I jus'…got toit 'fore they did."

_OMFG_, thinks Fanfic Hermione, _that is sooo sad. He tOtAlLy needs a woman in his life to set him straight! How romantic! What a challenge!_

"That's okay, George," she says out loud, "We'll help you out!"

"Yeah," says Ginny, jumping up to take his arm, until Hermione glares so hard at her that she stumbles back into her seat. "I—I'm kinda tired. I…sit here…"

Hermione leads George tenderly out of the Great Hall. As they leave, Ron wonders glumly, "Why doesn't anyone ever do that for me? Here I am, nursing the wounds from a near-fatal firebreathing mouse attack, and she goes stumbling off with him."

"Bad luck, mate," says Ginny with only a hint of sarcasm.

"Well," he says sagely, looking up at her, "I'm just a poor deprived"—

-An undetermined number of months later-

Hermione comes home from her job as a (generic Ministry of Magic position here) to find a ginger—her husband, she assumes— sitting in the living room.

"What's wrong, dear?" she asks. "Usually you're down in the shop right now, or…" she trails off when she notices that her ring is suddenly shinier than a lighthouse with a bad complexion, and Fred Weasley turns around to face her.

"F-Fred!" she whispers dramatically, "I thought you were…_dead_!"

"Not quite, my love," he says, standing up from the chair and stalking toward her. "But I am…._changed_."

"Oh, Fred," Hermione whispers dramatically, "What _happened_ to you?"

"Hermione, I…" Fred stalks closer to her, "I'm a _vampire_ now."

"_NO_!" Hermione screams, then faints.

…..

A month later, Hermione drifts back to reality, briefly.

"Hermione?" says a distinctly ginger voice, "Are you awake?"

"Fred?" she mumbles.

"Er, yes," the voice replies.

"Well, that's good," she says, "because I've always wondered what a vampire lemon would be like."

…..later…..

Vampire Fred and George the Ginger are conferring in the living room while Hermione has been in a coma for three months, and now lies in the other room.

"What do you mean, pregnant?"

"I mean, she's two months bloody pregnant!" says George.

"But she's in a coma! How is that possible?" asks Fred, confused.

George looks sheepish. "She may have woken up for about three hours at one point…"

"Oh, George, you didn't!" shouts Fred. "You know she's MY true love!"

"She's MY wife!" George shouts back.

"Freddikins?" comes Hermione's weak voice from around the corner, "Is that you? Why are you shouting at yourself?"

"She's awake!" Fred informs George angrily.

"Fred…" Hermione says, coming into the living room, "…and…George…" she looks very confused.

"My love!" Say Fred and George in unison.

"Fred," says Hermione, looking from one ginger to the other, "Is it you?"

"Yes," both of them reply. Then one twin looks at the other.

"Blimey!"

"She can't tell us apart!"

"She would if you stopped pretending to be me!"

"It's _you_ pretending to be _me_!"

"Well, it doesn't matter, because she's mine!"

Just then, Ron bursts in.

"Hermione_, mi amor_," he declares in Spanish, puffy shirt flowing in the breeze, "I have waited all these years. It will not do any longer. I must confess my feelings for you."

"Now's not the best time!" says Hermione, "I've just come out of a coma, I can't tell the difference between my two other true loves, and it's just now occurred to me that I'm two months pregnant with what may or may not be a vampire baby!"

"I do not care," Ron replies, sweeping Hermione into his brawny arms, "who your other lovers are. You are my one and only. Come away with me, and let me whisper Spanish nothings into your sweet ears."

Suddenly, there is a growl from behind them, and the ginger twin who is now revealed to be Fred stands at Ron's throat, vampire fangs extended.

"She is mine," Fred hisses, "You will not have her!" And with that, he commences to suck Ron's blood.

"Hermione," George pleads while Fred is distracted, "the baby is mine. Come away with me. We'll go to Majorca, where there is no cold darkness to harbor the undead. We will raise our baby on the island, like a native, and name her Fiona. One day, Fiona will meet a handsome stranger who will beg her to run away with him and join in London's high society as his bride, but until then it will be just the three of us, and we will love and cherish her, and you will be safe with me."

"Oh, George!" Hermione exclaims, "if only I could know that for sure! But I can't tell the difference between you and your brother, which might mean the baby is Fred's! If little Fiona is half-vampire, she can never have a normal life, neither on Majorca nor anywhere else! And if that's the case, I'll have to go with Fred to hide in his cavern of darkness, where no ray of sunlight can ever harm my precious baby!"

"Actually," says Fred, "I have a rather nice flat on the other side of London. Very roomy, plenty of windows"—

"Oh, George!" exclaims Hermione, "how ever will I stand it if I'm torn away into the night by this monster?"

"Hey," says Fred.

"Oh, Fred," Hermione continues, "how will I ever stand it if we cannot be together?"

"But"—George starts.

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione adds, now kneeling despondently by the body of the ginger, "I can never live with myself, knowing the pain your secret love of me caused your Spanish heart! Wherever you are, I hope you forgive me, for I will never forgive myself!"

"Don't you think that's taking it a little too far?" Fred wonders.

"Silence!" says Hermione, stepping onto the ledge of the floor-to-ceiling picture window, "No more! I cannot allow little Fiona to be born into such an unforgiving world! Goodbye, my darlings!" And with that, Hermione hurls herself through the window to the sidewalk fifty stories below.

"What a waste!" laments George.

"Oh, the humanity!" Fred sighs.

-TWO MINUTES LATER, ON THE SIDEWALK FIFTY STORIES BELOW-

Harry gently sets Hermione down, wary of her delicate condition. Then, with his now-free hands, he doffs his skipper's cap and removes the pipe from between his lips.

"Well, m'dear," he says to Hermione, "Jolly good show, that."

"I couldn't have done it without you," she replies, loving eyes drinking in every detail of his debonaire, monocle-d face.

"Well, darling, I think we'll have them fooled for quite a while."

"Are we to be off, now, dear?" Hermione questions.

"Jolly well right we are," says Harry, "the jet is all set to take us straight to Majorca."

"Hermione!" comes a Spanish-accented female voice from around the corner. Harry and Hermione turn.

"Ginny!" they exclaim in unison. Indeed, there stands the Ginger Girl in a long white dress, hair flickering like fire in the warm Spanish breeze.

"Hermione, my love!" she exclaims, "Run away with me!"

"I can't, Ginny," Hermione explains sadly, "I am responsible for your brother's death. In fact, I now realize"—there is a swell of eerie music—"that it was not Fred who was the monster; it was me all along!"

"It does not make a deef-eh-rence," Ginny replies, rolling her R's, "What we have…it is somethink you come a-cross only once in this shorrt, shorrt lifetime."

"Aw, what the hell," Hermione says. "Sorry, Harry, but she has me convinced. I will always have a special place in my heart for you, but my place is with Ginny, my Spanish lesbian lover!" The two women run off into the sunset together.

"My, my," says Harry to himself, sucking on his pipe, "I'm not sure I fancy all this hodgepodge rigmarole. It's the quiet bachelor's life for me. Jeeves, get the car!"

_A/N: Don't ask what possessed me to write that._

_I think there's a very special chapter coming next, but if you have any requests, don't hesitate to send them in!_


	18. I Solemnly Swear That I am Up to No Good

_Hello, beautiful people. Something wicked this way comes, and I thought you should be on your guard: there will be a new celebratory chapterstravaganza tomorrow, in honour of the final movie. Be prepared. In the meantime, in case you have a special someone to propose insnanity to, I have composed for you a very useful poemlette:_

**The Harry Potter Nerd's Love Song**

You're the loveliest of all the wizards and witches

With eyes that sparkle like golden snitches;

Brighter than fire from dragons above,

You could win a Dementor's love.

I don't think you're a waste of space.

You have a power too subtle to Trace.

My heart would break into a glowing aurora

If I could open your heart with "Alohomora"

You don't need Veritaserum to know it's true:

I'd drink bubotuber pus for you.

My love for you is quite compulsive—

You're as wonderful as a Skrewt is repulsive.

Your face is my Department of Mysteries,

And in it I read magical histories.

I'd break a thousand Fidelius charms

Just to hold you in my arms.

_No use crying over spilt potion, but the cat's among the pixies now..._


	19. Mischeif Managed

_A/N: Hello, my gorgeous, sweet, fluffy, adorable, amiable, magnificent, upstanding, glorious, elegant, lovely, dab-hand-at-poker darlings! You will notice—with some surprise, I'd wager—that I am back. You will also notice that it is the eve of the final _Harry Potter_ film—the moment we've all been counting down to for our ENTIRE LIVES. You may even use your exceptional powers of deduction to figure out that these two things are related._

_Yes—I have decided to do a special chapter celebrating all things fandomy. The approaching end has made me very goopy and sentimental, and I can't but ruminate on how very much it means to me to be part of the Harry Potter community. I thought I would try, in my own small but exceedingly brilliant way, to give something back. So, this may be the last-ever chapter of _Irresponsible Shippers_—but by Jove, I'm giving it my all._

_Thanks to all my readers. I hope your experience in the fandom has been as wonderful as mine._

_Here it is:_

**Hermione W. Cullen and the Irresponsible Shippers present**

**A spectacular one-chapter-only event**

**Don't be late, 'cause you won't want to miss…**

"**Lovespell"**

A hush has fallen over Hogwarts castle. It is the eve of the final battle, and all the witches and wizards there find themselves momentarily quieted by the enormity of what is about to occur. The air of doom is like a heavy, soundproofed fog over the castle, and it is seriously weirding everybody out.

"Why is everything suddenly so quiet?" wonders Ronald Weasley, a lanky and adorable ginger.

"Don't ask me," says Harry Potter, a classic heroic figure.

"If you two would just be quiet for a moment, I'm sure I'd have it figured out in no time," snaps Hermione Granger, far too awesome for description.

Exchanging a look, Harry and Ron fall silent. Hermione stares into the empty air with great concentration for an awkwardly long time. Ron is about to interrupt her again, when she shouts,

"Ah! I know what it is!"

"Wot?" say Harry and Ron in unison.

"The massive number of simultaneous reads our story is currently experiencing is causing an imaginational overhaul of written events."

"Wot?" say Harry and Ron again.

"The power of Fandom is warping the fabric of reality," Hermione explains impatiently.

"Oh," says Harry.

"Wot?" says Ron.

"You'll see," Hermione sighs. "You'll begin to feel the effects any moment now."

Suddenly, a ripping noise pervades the air, giving everyone on both sides of the war flashbacks to that one time they tripped over the hem of their pants and heard the seam split and had to figure out how to get out of the room without anyone seeing. Then things return to normal—or, seemingly so.

"There," says Hermione. "That was it."

"Wot?" says Ron.

"Reality just changed. Do you feel strange? Different, perhaps? Sudden overwhelming need to use unnecessary expletives? Unexpected but undeniable attraction to Gregory Goyle, perhaps?"

"No, no, of course not," says Ron. "Professor Flitwick's always been the one for me, isn't that obvious?"

Hermione purses her lips. "Yes, well. I see we need to minimize the damage. We should split up and spread the word. Harry, Ron, I want you both to walk around and tell everyone you meet that reality has temporarily changed, and that they should try to ignore the sudden inexplicable urges that pop up. Ron, you take the grounds; Harry, you take the forest; I'll take the castle."

"Can't I take the castle?" says Ron.

"Absolutely not."

"Alright," he says, hanging his head. "But if you see Filius, tell him I love him!"

"What I find most disturbing about that statement," says Hermione resignedly, "is that it is probably by far the least disturbing thing I'll hear until this is all over."

With that, the Trio separate, off to explore the landscape of a new reality.

The Forbidden Forest is dark, foreboding, and somehow much smaller than usual. _The walk must have been shortened for convenient plot reasons_, Harry surmises in an unusual burst of perception. And, indeed, in no time at all, he reaches the clearing where Voldemort and his supporters have Hagrid captive or whatever.

"Is that right?" says Harry.

Close enough. This is Fandom. Reality is not even a thing.

Anyway, Hagrid's like,

"All righ', there, Harry?"

And Harry blushes and is like,

"Hi, Hagrid."

And there is an awkward pause. Finally, a voice:

"Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. _What_ is going on here?"

Harry looks up in surprise. The voice belongs to Bellatrix Lestrange.

"What do you mean?" says Harry, surprised out of remembering that he stopped talking to her, like, ages ago.

"You and Hagrid. You're acting totally OOC. What's the deal?"

"Er," says Harry. He thinks for a minute.

And another minute.

And another minute.

British minutes are long.

Finally it dawns on him.

"Oh!" he says. Everyone looks up expectantly.

"It's the reality shift or whatever. I was supposed to tell people. Reality's different right now due to some big eventy thing that is way too meta for me to understand. So people might be acting weird until things go back to normal. For example, in this universe, it seems Hagrid's and my relationship is complicated by an awkward romantic history."

There is a long pause as everybody lets this sink in. Finally, Bellatrix bursts out laughing.

"Er…something funny?" Harry says irritably (causing all readers to have a momentary flashback to _Order of the Phoenix_, when Harry's behavior seemed to be an advertisement for that particular adverb).

"A fine tale, so mote I goon!" says Bellatrix in between chortles.

"Was that, by any chance, a Middle English idiom?" whispers Voldemort to Lucius.

"Well spotted, sir!" says Lucius, swishing his cloak in acknowledgement.

"Darling," says Narcissa to Lucius, "I hate to make a fuss, but why are you suddenly so flamingly gay?"

"Well, sweetie," says Lucius, swishing his cloak in a didactic manner, "I suppose Fandom took my fondness for long cloaks, canes, flashy accessories, and well-groomed long hair, and ran away with it!"

"But, my dear," says Narcissa, "couldn't you just be a rock star?"

"Sure," snorts Bellatrix, "a _gay_ rock star."

"I really don't think—" Narcissa starts, but Voldy interrupts her.

"—If you're not sure, ask Snape. He knows aaaaaaall about it."

Laughing like maniacs, Bella and Voldy high-five each other.

"Harry, I hate to bother ye a' wha' I'm sure is a difficul' momen', but…" Hagrid isn't sure he can finish this sentence… "When did You-Know-Who get so…well…sassy?"

After marveling for a moment at Hagrid's stunningly ill-written dialect, Harry answers, "I don't know."

Staring at Voldemort now, Harry privately adds, _but I think I like it._

"Neville!" shouts Ron's voice across the grounds, "It's okay! The power of something ineffably meta has caused reality to shift momentarily! You don't have to make out with Luna!"

"But I want to," says Neville, looking disgruntled.

"That's just the alternate reality messing with your head!" says Ron.

"Not really," says Neville. "It's kinda been true for a while."

Luna looks up at Ron too. "You know," she says, "your skin makes a fascinating contrast with your hair when you blush…"

Ron clears his throat. "Right then. Carry on." And he walks away.

Luna looks back to Neville. "You know," she says, "I like this reality much better than the canon universe. I'm sure Rolf Scamander is all right, but I mean, he's not even in the books. This just seems to make so much more sense."

"I don't know what you're talking about," says Neville, "but I love you."

Hermione is walking through the castle, wand pointed to her throat to magnify her voice, making the announcement.

"Due to reasons that are far too meta for lesser creatures than I to understand, we are experiencing an alternate-universe interlude. Please attempt to resist any vastly out of character urges—the more in-character you stay, the faster we'll ride this out."

"'Ermione!" comes a throaty shout from down the hall.

Fleur Delacour comes gliding down the corridor at top speed, crashes into Hermione's arms, and starts snogging her in what Hermione thinks is a very undignified manner.

"Eet eez too late to 'ide my feelings. I was so worried I would never see you again! I could not bear that. Please tell me you feel the same!"

"Strangely enough," says Hermione, "I do. And furthermore, I feel that femmeslash is a piteously underexplored subgenre of fanfiction. However, due to continuity reasons or something and also the Shadow Proclamation, I think it best if I stay as canon as possible."

"I do not know what you are talking about," says Fleur, "But I love you!"

"Yes, very well," sighs Hermione, "I love you too. But I have to go now. Important world-savey stuff."

"Au revoir, cherie!" Fleur calls after her as Hermione hurries away.

Hermione stalks down the hallway, observing the scene, trying to figure out how far gone this alternate reality is. She passes Crabbe and Goyle making out.

"Makes sense," she mutters.

She passes Sirius and Lupin making out.

"Non-canon, but makes sense," she mutters.

She passes Regulus Black and Barty Crouch, Jr. making out.

"Okay, not good, not good…I have to do something about this _now_, or all of reality will turn to shreds—" she bumps into Professor McGonagall.

"Is there a problem, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Professor. We've gone into imaginational overdrive due to overreading. We have a temporary shift in reality."

"Oh dear."

"Exactly. I'm trying to return us to normality before all the laws of our universe decay. Unfortunately, I am hampered in explaining this any further by a sudden and overwhelming crush on you."

"That's quite all right, Miss Granger. None of us can help what our alternate-reality selves feel or want. I shall do my best to assist you in returning Hogwarts to its proper existence. I suppose you have surmised that our best chance is to find Mr. Potter?"

"Yes!" says Hermione, blushing furiously as if she's never gotten a right answer before. "He's in the Forbidden Forest."

In the Forbidden Forest, Harry and Voldemort are taking a leisurely walk, hand in hand.

"I am so glad we could stop being mortal enemies long enough to have this peaceful interlude," says Voldemort.

"Me too, Tommy," says Harry.

Voldemort cringes. "Could you maybe not use that nickname? It sounds so…The Who."

"Whatever you want. How 'bout Tommikins?"

Voldemort smiles like a Lucius/Hermione shipper writing a ten-page lemon. "I like that."

"Well, I'm glad we could have this interlude, Tommikins."

"Yes," says Voldemort, "Otherwise we would never have realized how all our aggression toward each other was really just masking the true love we felt deep down. And then we would have kept fighting. And then you would have died, and I couldn't have borne that."

"Or maybe you would have died," says Harry.

"Now, now, dear, let's not jump to conclusions."

"I would have been sad if you'd died," says Harry.

"I think we can agree," says Voldemort, "that either of us would have been sad if the other had died, regardless of the frankly much higher likelihood that I would have been the sad one and you the dead one."

"Ah, listen to the dulcet tones of bickering lovebirds!" says Lucius, approaching them with a swish of his cloak. "It's a sound I hear frequently in my own home, where my own pet lovebirds fight constantly due to the unbreakable anti-happiness spell set on the mansion several hundred years ago!"

"Lucius," says Voldemort, "I don't know if you know how you're talking right now."

"Yeah," says Harry, "all your sentences are ending in exclamation marks."

"Oh, you!" says Lucius, "It's just part of my personal style and flair!"

"Is it just me," says Voldemort to Harry, "or is he, like, extra gay right now?"

"Maybe he's just a really gay straight man," says Harry.

"I don't think it works that way."

"Well, I dunno," says Harry. "Hermione is always telling me not to put gender and sexuality in boxes. She took a Muggle feminist theory class last summer."

"I really, really don't know what's going on right now," Voldemort says, "But I love you."

"Potter! There you are!" McGonagall is running through the forest, with Hermione close behind. "We—oh, good lord, what's going on here?"

"Minerva!" says Lucius, strolling up to McGonagall and putting his hands on her shoulders. "How dare you get more gorgeous without me there to see it?"

"Lucius!" says McGonagall, and they air-kiss each other near the cheeks.

"What's going on?" Hermione mouths to Harry.

"No idea," he mouths back.

"The kids look confused," says Lucius, with a conciliatory swish of the cloak. "They don't know, do they?"

"Of course not."

"Well, don't worry, Minerva. Your sordid past is safe with me." He chuckles and steps back. McGonagall catches Voldemort in the corner of her eye.

"Hi, Tom," she says quietly.

"Hi," he says back.

"Tommikins," says Harry, "Wot in the name of Merlin's beautifully laundered spats is going on here?"

"Harry," says Hermione, "please try not to get involved in this new reality. You're the protagonist, so Professor McGonagall and I think that if _you_ stay on your proper track for the story, reality will right itself soon enough—"

"Shut up, Hermione," says Harry, "I want to hear Tommikins explain himself."

Hermione groans with frustration. "Will you just listen to me? Why, WHY, would ANYBODY be stupid enough not to listen to me, this far into the series? I know everything, and I have never, ever, ever, ever, _ever_ been wrong! IF PEOPLE WOULD JUST SHUT UP FOR TEN SECONDS AND LISTEN TO HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER, MAYBE WE WOULDN'T BE IN SUCH A COMPLICATED MESS IN THE FIRST PLACE. I DON'T MEAN TO BE CONCEITED HERE, BUT IF I RAN THE WORLD NONE OF THIS SHIT WOULD EVER HAPPEN. EVER."

"I like this girl," says Lucius, swishing his cloak approvingly. "She has sass."

"My apologies, Hermione," says Voldemort politely, "but if you just give me a moment to explain myself to Harry, we'll all give you our full attention immediately afterward."

"Fine," says Hermione. "You have five minutes. I am literally going to count the whole time. When I get to 300, your time is up. One, _alohomora_, two, _alohomora_, three…"

"Harry dear," says Voldemort, "Before your time—like, literally, before you were born—Minerva and I had a—thing."

"You had a thing?"

"Yes."

"Like, a _thing_ thing?"

"That's right."

"Is that true?" says Harry, looking at McGonagall, "Did you have a thing-thing?"

"Yes, Potter," says McGonagall. "To tell you the truth, my school days were rather rife with thingyness."

Lucius chortles and swishes his cloak knowingly.

"…299_ Spartans died in_…300! My turn! I'm talking now!" Hermione looks around, and is pleased to see that everyone has fallen silent (though perhaps more from shock that she hasn't forgotten about the counting than in awe of her fearsome presence).

"Now," she says, "Harry. We think that if we take you out of all this insanity, normality will be restored more quickly. Professor, will you escort Harry to some quiet glen until all this is over? Hopefully nobody's been absurd enough to ship you two."

"Wot's she talking about?" says Harry.

"Yes, of course," says McGonagall to Hermione, dragging Harry away.

"Professor, wot's Hermione talking about?" Harry's voice soon dies away.

There's a pretty profound awkward silence among the three left, until Bellatrix pops up.

"Hey, peeps! What's the haps?"

Lucius groans.

"Have I committed some iniquity which has led to your disquietude?" Bellatrix asks him, "Because I merely made a simple query, intending no overt offense."

"Why is Bella acting like such a weirdo?" Voldemort asks.

"Well," says Hermione, "this is actually a very interesting case. In the main story, she has a very distinctive personality, but in the wider readerverse, interpretation of her character varies so widely that she doesn't know who she is."

"You mean she's lacking personal style? She can have some of mine!" says Lucius with a magnanimous swish of his cloak.

"If you swish that cloak one more time, I will literally set it on fire," says Voldemort.

"I wish people would stop overusing the word 'literally,'" says Hermione. "It makes me want to punch them in the face."

"But I meant 'literally' literally," says Voldemort.

"Wait, you literally meant 'literally' literally?"

"Yup."

"Oh." Hermione considers for a moment, then offers her hand for a very dignified high-five, which Voldemort accepts.

Hermione just high-fived the Dark Lord.

Hermione just high-fived the Dark Lord.

Hermione just high-fived the Dark Lord.

"Why did that thing we just did happen four times?" says Voldemort.

"I believe the author made an unfortunately timed use of comedic repetition," says Hermione.

It is not for you to question Author. I think I'll leave you to consider what you've done, _young lady_.

"So, Potter," says McGonagall, "You're going with Tom now, are you?"

After working out her antiquated phrasing, Harry says, "Yeah, I guess so. Is it true you did, too?"

"Yes, Potter."

"Hey, Professor? You know that thing he does?"

"Yes, Potter."

"What is that?"

"I don't know, Potter. I don't know."

A pause, as both reflect.

"Hey, Professor? You know how you said your school days were…what was it…"

"Rife with thingyness, Potter."

"Yeah. Right. That. I just wanted to know…how so?"

"Let us just say…I had my share of romantic liasons."

"With who?"

"Let's see…Professor Snape…" (Here Harry missed a few names, as he was trying very hard not to vomit at the thought), "…Molly Weasley…"

"Wait_wot_?" Harry said.

"Those were different times, Potter. Freer times, in some ways."

"Oh. I suppose you were with Dumbledore, too?"

To Harry's surprise, McGonagall laughed.

"Good heavens, no. Do you have eyes, boy? That man could out-gay Lucius 57 times over. And that's without swishing his cloak once. Without even wearing a cloak, maybe."

Now that Hermione has had a good long think about what she's done, _and I hope she's sorry_, we can return to her. She, Lucius, Bellatrix, and her new BFFL Voldemort have reached a lull in the conversation, when two gingers approach at top speed.

"Hermione!" Ron pants, "we just got away! Ginny almost snogged Snape!" He pulls his little sister by the hand, as she looks behind her in confusion.

"I don't understand," says Ginny. "He was there, and then all of a sudden, I _liked him_, and it was—so awkward—so painful—so—_greasy_!" She bursts into tears.

"There, there," Hermione says to Ginny, patting her on the back, "It'll all go away soon."

"So—much—grease—" Ginny gasps.

"Do you see what this reality shift is doing?" Hermione says to the others. "We _have_ to restore some normality."

"Um, 'Mione?" says Ron.

(Let it be known that Author has had enough, and will smite the next person who uses that phrase).

"Yeah, Ron?"

"I, er, that is to say, er, I, er. I still…loveyou. So. That's normality, right?"

Hermione bites her lip. "Well, you're right, Ron, it is, but…in this universe, I…I think I'm kinda supergay."

"What?" says Ron.

"Really?" says Ginny, giving her brother what can only be described as a triumphant look.

"Yeah," says Hermione.

"Hermione," says Ginny, "Will you run away with me and be with me forever in some remote, preferably tropical, corner of the world?"

"Well," says Hermione, "despite my still-extant awareness of a parallel track of events we will eventually be forced to run on again, and despite a strong sense of déjà-vu brought on by your proposition, I'm going to have to go with…yes."

Violin music swells, and everyone tactfully looks away. Lucius is nearly swishing his cloak with glee, but only _nearly_, because he remembers Voldemort's warning.

Suddenly, there is a loud, rather upsetting noise.

"What's that?" says Ginny, tightening her grip on Hermione's hand.

"I—I don't know," Hermione replies.

"It's the giant squid," says Voldemort.

"How do you know?" says Ron with as much interest as he can muster with his poor little shattered adorable heart…

"All of us slimy, creepy, and crawly creatures have a sort of rapport," Voldy explains. "That's why Severus and I get along so well."

Suddenly, Snape apparates into the middle of the scene.

"I wish," he slimes, "that you would stop insulting me in your every spare moment. It is truly getting tiresome."

And then, as quickly as he appeared, slimy, slithery, sniveling, sincerely suspicious and sorry Severus Snape Disapparates, hopefully leaving our hearts and minds werebat-free for the rest of forever.

"Anyway," says Hermione, "why's the giant squid making that noise?"

"I believe," says Voldemort, "Yes—he's singing a love song to Hagrid."

"Merlin's ill-advised goatee!" exclaims Hermione, "This is bad. We need to get to Harry NOW. It's time to resort to drastic measures. Follow me!" And she runs off in the direction Harry and McGonagall went, followed by Voldemort, Lucius, Bellatrix, and Ginny.

Ron, now alone, sits on a log and puts his head in his hands.

If a poor deprived ginger kid bemoans his fate in the forest, and there's no one there to hear it, did he still never ask for any of this?

Hermione & co find a strange sight: Harry Potter and Minerva McGonagall, sitting on the ground, laughing so hard they are in tears.

"…and then," says McGonagall, "He vanished the platypus and said—" she notices the large group of newcomers to the clearing.  
"Dear me, you're all looking dreadfully grim."

"The giant squid is singing a love song to Hagrid, Professor," Ginny explains.

"We figured this called for drastic measures," says Hermione.

"Yes. Yes, you're quite right, Miss Granger."

"Shall I, Professor?"

"Of course."

"Wot are you gonna do?" says Harry. Hermione proceeds to follow the show-don't-tell rule.

She points her wand at the sky, makes some complicated, geometrical-looking gestures, and shouts,

"_Bibbidy—Boppity—Boo!_"

With cheerful, dramatic music, a cloud in the sky splits in two, revealing a bright, sparkling rainbow that unfurls all the way to the ground at their feet.

"Bibbidy-boppity-boo?" Ginny questions.

"My vote was for ','" says an arch voice from on high.

"Gesundheit," mutters Harry.

There is a blinding flash of purple light, and when they can see again, Dumbledore is sliding nonchalantly down the rainbow.

"Hello," he says. Everybody blinks at him, silently. He holds out a small paper bag. "Lemon drop, anyone?"

All of a sudden, everybody is talking at once.

"Professor Dumbledore, there was an overread—"

"When suddenly we realized we couldn't fight any more—"

"And he said, if I swished my cloak one more time—"

"I mean, Molly Weasley, who'd have—"

"Tengo miedo serio de jirafas—"

"—And then Miss Granger conjured you."

Dumbledore surveys them all for a moment, enjoying a lemon drop as he thinks. Finally he says,

"Ten points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger."

Hermione beams.

"But can you fix it, Professor?" says Harry, "Because the way I understand it, if it keeps going like this, I'm in danger of becoming either a canned heroic cliché, or a soulless vessel through which authors live out their magical fantasies."

Dumbledore fixes Harry with his _astute periwinkle gaze_ and says, "How very perceptive of you, Harry."

"So will you return the world back to normal, Professor?" Hermione says.

"Think for a moment," says Dumbledore. "Think of what brought us here in the first place. Think of all those loyal readers out there, giving their whole selves to imagining this world. Not every reality is in a position to be overread like this. You," he says, spreading his arms, "are loved. Think of all the people you'd be letting down by sticking to. Er. Reality."

"Did Dumbledore just say 'er'?" says Harry.

"I think so," Hermione replies.

"In conclusion," Dumbledore continues, "I suggest you simply…what's the expression…'ride the wave'? Let the readers take you where they want you to go. You'll have your original story back eventually, but what's the hurry? It's very sad."

The other characters think for a moment, and then Hermione says,

"Dumbledore's right."

"Dumbledore's right?" says Ginny. "Wow. That doesn't usually happen."

"We should just embrace the strange," Hermione continues.

Just then, a letter drops out of the sky. Harry catches it, reads it, and turns to Hermoine.

"It's from Buckbeak. He and Crookshanks want your blessing to get married."

Hermione stands for a moment, twitching.

"I can't handle this! Give me reality back RIGHT NOW!" And she crosses her arms and stares petulantly at the sky.

And continues to stare, being zoomed out upon, as the Author decides to leave the ending ambiguous, cackles gleefully, and retires to her cave.

_A/N: That's all folks. Good night, and good luck. And remember—I won't update 'till I get tin god vons._


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